


Ways of Life That Never Happened to Brian and Justin

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Angst, Drama, Fantasy, Horror, Humor, Mystery, Romance, Suspense, What-If, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-05-12
Updated: 2007-10-11
Packaged: 2018-12-27 15:15:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 26,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12083715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: A collection of alternate realities for Brian and Justin, and ways their lives could have gone in different worlds. Chapter Four: Brian and Justin attend a posh high school.





	1. One: Porn Shop

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

\--- 

It's not like we never get guys like him in the store.  

I know the type. 

Hair done in such a way that it looks like it cost more than the average house. A car that is so impractically small, you wonder how they manage to fit in it. Suits – sometimes ties – and expensive loafers. Cuff links you can't help but want to steal. 

This one's different. 

Not many people go right for the hard-core stuff. I mean, I know it's a porn shop, but most people try to make their excuses first. "I'm getting this for a friend." Or even worse, "My wife thinks they're attractive." And they look around, trying to make eye contact with everyone, drilling it into everyone's heads. _I'm not actually gay_ , they're pleading with us to believe.  

We don't, but if we humor them, they let us keep the change.  

And they pay with large bills. 

This one enters. The door jingles obnoxiously – we put up the door-jingler thing mainly as a means of terrifying the customers, like somebody might hear and see them entering.  

This is Liberty Avenue, guys. We've all seen it before.  

He enters, and he brushes past everyone else – all the terrified fags who want to know who he is, even though their biggest fear is someone else knowing who _they_ are. He shoves past them all, grabs two from a shelf with the air of an expert, and swiftly makes his way to the register.  

"Hi, I'm Justin," I say, as if my nametag didn't say it all. I am lounging, sprawled over the counter, because really, who wants to be half-invisible all day? 

Unlike the others, he doesn't grunt noncommittally or flat-out ignore me.  

He looks me over.  

Makes his way from my feet up to my eyes, then back down to a certain place that contains what I'm sure is his favorite part of anyone's body, especially his own.  

"When's your break?" he asks me. 

The other guys are shocked. Maybe they've never seen a real "gay" person in the gay porn shop before. 

I shrug. Check my watch. "Can you wait five minutes?" I ask.  

He glances at the door. 

"Daphne!" I yell to my co-worker, a straight nineteen-year-old girl who spends most of her time downloading new movies and putting them in boxes that look genuine. And, of course, watching them. "Get off your ass and watch the store for five minutes!"  

"Five?" the man asks me, quirking an eyebrow.  

I look him over. "Fifteen," I say at last.  

The guy reaches out and opens the door to the closet where we keep duplicate videos and new arrivals and stuff. He closes the door and before I know it, I'm backed up against it. 

\--- 

The first thing he asks me afterward is "How old are you?" 

I shrug. It depends who's asking. Considering he just fucked me, he probably wants to hear what I told my boss – twenty – or what it says on my fake ID – twenty-one. I suck at lying, though – and at other things, of course, but that's a standard gay joke that you may as well just use at the end of every sentence I say. Anyway.  

"Twenty-one," I lie. 

He knows. I can tell.  

"Twenty?" I suggest, sounding less unsure. "Nineteen."  

I know he wants to believe it. "Just spit it out, kid. I know you won't report me. You liked it too much."  

I blush. "Seventeen," I admit at last. "But it's not like I haven't – you know – before. I mean, I work at a porn shop, and every so often a guy comes by who has the balls to admit that he's actually gay. And for those brave customers, I offer a few… special privileges."  

The guy snorts. "I practically had to drag you back here."  

"As much as you'll ever have to drag someone anywhere, yeah," I laugh. "Me, I'm more the type to get dragged around, if you know what I mean."  

"All this 'drag,'" he observes mildly. "What is this, Babylon?"  

I pointedly glance around at the videos stacked up on the shelves and walls around us. He laughs. "Well, we have quite a setting here," he tells me. "What's the deal with this closet – couldn't your boss put a lock on it so you underage employees don't come in here to fuck?"  

"He _wishes_ we spent time in the closet," I laugh. "Actually, after catching me giving someone a blowjob under the counter, he's pretty comfortable with keeping the closet open. Just, you know, in case."  

There is a pause.  

"What's your name?" I ask him, hoping I'm not crossing a boundary or something. The Rules of Homosexuality were never quite explained to me. 

He hesitates, like he's thinking the same thing I am. But it's only fair that he tells me, because I have a fucking _nametag_ , and he should offer me the same courtesy of knowing the name of the person who just fucked me.  

Finally, he answers. "Brian," he says slowly, like he's expecting I'm going to start jumping up and down and squealing like a teenage girl.  

Right. Because I'm _soooo_ far from being a teenage girl. I'm just a teenage _queer_.  

Then again, that probably means I can squeal louder.  

While my parents didn't raise me to know the rules of being a homosexual, they did teach me manners. I stick out my arm. He looks like he has no idea what to do with it, so I prompt him, "It's nice to meet you."  

"Look, kid," he says, like he's had just about enough of my bullshit. "I fucked you, I told you my name, and I bought some porn. That's about as far as our relationship is going to go."  

I raise my eyebrows. "I've been working here for a year now, _Brian_ ," I tell him delicately. "If you think that just because I'm seventeen I don't know how to trick, you are sorely mistaken." I get to my feet, standing with a single hand on my hip like a drag queen on an ego trip. (Then again, aren't they all on ego trips?)  

The guy – Brian – laughs. "I was like you at seventeen," he tells me.  

"Does that mean I'll be like you at forty?" I shoot back. Not because he looks forty – fuck, he looks a little more than half that – but because I know it'll sting, and he deserves it, after giving me The Lecture Of The Trick Who Wouldn't Die. 

Brian rolls his eyes. "Age jokes aside, you run a decent business here, _Justin_ ," he says, reading my name off my nametag, "and I'm not talking about the DVDs. I'll see you next week."  

With that, he zips his pants, opens the closet door, and leaves. 

On his way out, he drops a fifty-dollar bill on the counter. Daphne reaches for it, but I slap her hand aside. "Damn," she mutters. "What kind of blowjob did you _give_ him?"  

I am spared having to answer when an overweight forty-odd-year-old swaggers up to me with a stack of ten or so movies. I glance at the first one. _Blondes in Bora Bora_. It's one we've shown in the store once or twice – fast-forwarding through the non-sex scenes, of course, because what's the fun of _plot_? – and which I happen to know by heart. "That one's got an eleven-incher," I remark, indicating the second movie: _Jumping for Boys_.  

The titles of these shitty films are the most contrived things I have ever heard. 

The "sheep" – what I like to call my charming customers lacking the ability to think with their brains rather than with their cocks – adore them.  

My mind's on something else – some _one_ else – for the rest of the day. Later, when Daphne asks me which movie to pop in the VCR, I don't even manage to respond. 

\---

Some of my regulars are subject to obnoxious nicknames. There's Pinky, the magenta-wearing oblivious queen who comes in here every week and oozes flamboyance all over, even though he won't admit it. There's also Wannabe, who is among the whitest people I have ever seen but still insists upon buying these hardcore black-on-black dominance movies. And there's the highly politically incorrect Hao – the only Asian customer I have ever seen enter this store. 

Others – most likely, the ones most in touch with their sexualities – share their names with me. This is the case with Ted Schmidt, an accountant who comes by every other day to drop off huge loads (no comments, please) of DVDs and pick up some new ones. Ted's pretty boring, and the only thing about him that really differentiates him from the average office worker is the fact that he spends his nine-to-five watching gay porn.  

I know, because every time he comes in, he's on his cell phone, talking to his friends about what "Worcshafter" did today. That's his boss, I think – a boss who continuously has just missed catching Ted watching porn on his office computer. It's a fine line one walks between hobby and addiction, and it appears to me that Ted has crossed it. 

One day, Ted walks in with a guy.  

No. 

_The_ guy.  

What was his name? Immediately, I search my mind for an appropriate nickname. "Big Cock" is all that comes to mind, and this is the one guy around whom I plan to maintain some sort of dignity. As in, I won't call him _that_.

"Come on," Ted is whining to his companion. "Pick something out, Bri." 

Brian. Right.  

"You," drawls his smooth voice, "just want me to get something so that I can pay for both of our choices. Well, Theodore, if this is where the big bucks of accounting are going for you, that's fine, but it is _not_ my intended financial course of action."  

Then he turns. He faces me, looks me over again. "Fucked him," he tells Ted loudly. 

"You did not," Ted snaps. "This is _my_ porn shop."  

"Sorry, Teddy," I call from the register, pretending to examine my fingernails. "But he did. In there." I jerk my thumb to the closet door. "It was damn good."  

On the TV screen high up on the wall on the left-hand side of the room, a guy is pounding into another guy's mouth in a bedroom whose walls are lined with pictures of cars and superheroes. Both look to be of age, but it's still creepy. I wonder if that's what Brian pictured after he found out I'm only seventeen. 

Ew. 

Brian looks at his watch, then at the door, and finally back at me. "You wanna have another go?" he offers.  

I'm shocked.  

Men like him don't do repeats.  

Not "men like him" like the wannabe heterosexuals with expensive haircuts and suits and expensive cuff links. I mean "men like him" who dance and sweat and fuck all over the floors of Babylon, picking up tricks at every corner.  

"Uh – sure," I stammer, _very_ taken aback. I glance at Ted, and I'm relieved to see that I'm not the only one in shock. He looks bewildered too. 

"Daphne!" I yell, kicking our shared "office" door. "I'm going on break!" 

"It's not your break ti – "  

Brian pulls me in the closet and slams the door shut. I hear Daphne sigh, drop her headphones on the desk, and step back into the main room to watch the shop. 

Then the next thing I hear is my own grunting as Brian shoves into me. 

\--- 

Ted's jealous. I can tell.  

Everyone is. Even Daphne. Everyone wants a piece of Brian Kinney. And fortunately for me, the piece I got is the piece everyone's trying to grab ahold on in Babylon.  

If we leave the closet door open when we fuck, all those "straight" guys get their rocks off right then and there. And they go and browse the shelves and get a couple extra DVDs, because let's face it, it's going to take some fucking hot shit to match with the amazing sex our customers witness. 

\---

Until now, it's always been an unspoken rule at XXX Video that I pretend to be the manager whenever someone asks for him. Because let's face it, _he_ never shows up. His name is Chris, and he's usually off with his family, trying to convince himself he's straight. Um. He's not.  

But one day, Chris comes into work.  

At first, it seems kind of normal. He's with his teenage son, who's dressed in a Little League uniform, dragging an aluminum baseball bat against the ground. I can see this out of the corner of my eye, peering out the crack in the closet doorway.  

But I can see him.  

Which means he can see me. 

Oh, _fuck_ , he can see me.  

And needless to say, so can the kid. 

\--- 

When you're a kid who gets paid upfront, in cash, and live with your best friend who also gets paid upfront, in cash, it's always a sneaking fear in the back of your mind that one day, you might get fired.  

He says he's not necessarily going to fire me. He says he's going to _monitor my performance_ for the next few days. But not with his eyes. _Nooo_. No way would he waste his precious time on that. He installed security cameras.  

Not one. Not two. Not even three or four or five.  

He installed _ten_ of them.  

Yeah. _Ten_. Four in the main room, two in the office, two in the closet where we keep duplicates and where I like to fuck, one in the employees' bathroom, and one at the door.  

Chris says it's not because of me. That he brought his son to the store in the first place so that they could start installing the cameras. And I believe him. A bit. I believe he wanted to make sure people weren't stealing shit, and to make sure all the porn Daphne downloads "meets standards," because once, she downloaded straight porn for herself, but then accidentally put it in one of the boxes, thus causing a huge fight with a client.  

But I also know that he's been aware of my sexual escapades in the storage closet for a long time, and that this is partially a way of him _getting me_ for it. Or watching me fuck. The bastard thinks I'm going to give him a show.  

And his son, also named Chris, with his stupid baseball bat and uniform and stuff? _He_ is the biggest closeted homosexual I've ever seen. He _leers_ at me. He told his dad he'll hang out by the store for the next few days to make sure I don't "get out of control." Oh, I'll get out of control all right.  

I just don't know what'll happen the next time Brian comes in and wants to fuck. 

\--- 

It happens sooner than I was expecting.  

He strolls into the store, either not noticing or ignoring the security cameras altogether. Immediately, I am reminded of what sets him apart from the other patrons. Confidence. He's proud of who he is. He doesn't take slow, timid steps into the store, skittish like his wife might come up behind him. Nearly everyone who shops here is married. I'm pretty sure he's not – he doesn't wear a ring or anything – but hey, you never know with these guys.  

"Hello," I say politely to him when he sets five DVDs on the counter. I read the name of the top one. _My Blond Slave Boy_. I cringe. Some people will never learn subtlety. 

Brian grins at me. "I saw your cameras. Your boss saw us fucking, right? Was he pissed?"  

Oh. He did notice, then.  

"Fuck, yeah."  

Brian grins. "Let me guess. He said he wouldn't necessarily fire you, but he's going to be supervising you for the next few days?"  

I nod.  

"That means he couldn't find anyone better to hire, or he's too lazy to, but don't fuck up or he's docking your pay."  

With a laugh, I ask, "So what do you do? If you're such an expert in interpreting boss-speak."  

"I'm in advertising," he replies. "I own my own company."  

"Interesting." Yeah, he definitely looks like he's in advertising. He's definitely rich enough. I'd guess he was a doctor or lawyer, but he looks like the kind of guy who isn't thrilled by the sight of blood and hates to get his hands dirty, and also one who could never pore over papers for hours without fuck breaks. 

As I ring up his DVDs, he gestures toward the closet door. "You want to…?" 

"Security cameras," I say regretfully. "Sorry."  

And that, I decide, will be the end of that. Since, after all, no way would he ever want to continue our casual fucking outside of "business." It's convenient for me – and for him, since he comes in here to get movies and he ends up getting off, too – but no way would a guy like this take such a silly thing outside of convenience. Fuck, he probably fucks a zillion guys a night, and the only reason why he did me multiple times is because no other hot guys work here.  

Except then he says, "Meet me at Babylon tonight?"  

I'm stunned. There. He just attatched a string to our no-strings-attatched relationship. _Not even_ a relationship. A fucking-ship.  

"Uh…"  

"What time do you get off?" he asks with a wink, indicating that work isn't the only thing I'll be getting off.  

I glance at the office door, where I can hear Daphne's headphones bleeding the faint sound of guy-on-guy fucking. There's a shocker. "Whenever I want," I laugh. "But my scheduled shift ends at nine."  

He looks at his watch, though I have a suspicion that he knew what time it is before even checking. "It's five," he tells me.  

"I know."  

"Meet me at Babylon at ten," Brian says.  

He drops a fifty-dollar bill on the counter and leaves. The jingle of the door is the last I hear of him before he starts up the engine of his sleek, shiny Jeep and heads back down Liberty Avenue. 

\--- 

Babylon. 

I don't obsess over how this place is like a heaven anymore. The lights, the colors, the sounds – they're routine. They're gorgeous, but they're routine.  

God, look at all those cheesy old men trying to dress the part of potential tricks. Ew. 

And look at that. Over at the bar, there are three past-their-primes standing around, singing who-knows-what. One of them sports a Captain Astro tee-shirt; another, a pink wifebeater. The third is as boring as sliced bread. 

Wait. The third one is Ted. I know Ted. 

Brian steps up behind them.  

Well, _here's_ someone who belongs in the crowd. 

I sidle over to him. "Screwdriver, please," I tell the bartender, slapping a ten-dollar bill on the bar. Brian brushes the bill back in my lap, replacing it with his own. "Make that two," he says. 

I grin. Gesturing to the three people beside him, I ask with great trepidation, "Are these your friends?"  

"Yeah. Emmett, Michael, and – you know Ted," he says, pointing to each one in turn. "And this is Justin," he tells them. "Wow. It's weird to see you without your nametag."  

Ted cocks an eyebrow. "Justin?"  

"The one and only," I reply, spreading my arms out like Jesus. To the clueless Michael and Emmett, I clarify, "I work at Brian and Ted's porn shop." 

Emmett looks unsure. "Honey, you don't look old enough to buy porn, much less sell it."  

"I'm not," I reply with a smile. "Fortunately, Brian is, which turned us on to some really incredible sex."  

"Yeah, I bet," Ted mumbles.  

Brian flashes a smile at a passing twink. "I'll be right back," he says. 

I grab his wrist. "Don't," I say hurriedly. "I can do everything he can, and then some."  

"Scared of Babylon, Justy-pie?" he teases. 

"No," I retort. "But I'd like some more of that amazing sex, if you'd be so kind."  

He grins. "Sure. Coming right up."  He takes me by the wrist and leads me into the back room. 

As we are walking away, I can vaguely hear Emmett, Michael, and Ted betting on how long "those two fucks'll last together." Mysterious Marilyn is willing to bet an eternity, and before I can deliberate over that, Brian has his pants down, standing against the wall, and I am being pushed to my knees to blow him.


	2. Two: Mass Murderer

When you're seventeen and your life is one solid schedule – go to school, come home, do some drawing, make dinner, chat with Mom and Dad and Molly, shut yourself in your room for awhile, go to sleep – it's easy to see how the biggest adventure of your life can be that daily fifteen-minute block of Playgirl between dinner and bed. 

Well, fuck. How did I _live_? 

I guess the best way to start the story is to say that I needed to get some money, and the ATM was broken. If you need to know, the money was to buy cigarettes with a fake ID I got in exchange for giving some guy a blowjob, but let's just pretend you didn't hear that. 

\---

The ATM is broken. Just fucking great.

With a grumble about stupid faulty supposed "advancements in technology," I shove my shoulder against the door and slip inside the bank. 

There are four irritated bald guys in front of me in line for the machine, so I wait. I am next in line when _it happens_.

The door jingles, and a man enters.

Not just any man. I've seen him before. _On TV_. That's Rage. The notorious mass murderer who's been making his away around Pennsylvania for the past three months. They said he was going after Philadelphia. Apparently not.

Apparently, I'm the only one in this place who watches any TV, because nobody else seems to notice a thing.

This calls for immediate action.

I lean over to the guy in front of me and say quietly, "That guy there? That's a mass murderer."

Okay, no, I don't, but I really, really want to. 

Instead I decide to skip the withdrawal for now and head home. I can come back later. 

I'm almost at the door when Scary Rage Guy decides that I will not be leaving. "Hold up," he grunts, and wedges his foot against the door. I hiss and curse under my breath. This is a very big problem. 

"Hey!" Rage yells. 

The bank falls silent. Everyone turns to look at him. A slim blond teller gasps. "You're Rage!" she squeals, and ducks stupidly under the counter. 

Yes, this is exactly how an emergency ought to be handled. Honestly.

A few more people recognize him after that, and one guy decides to start screaming bloody murder. Except not yet. Heh heh heh.

Wow, five minutes in the same bank as this guy and I'm already thinking like a mass murderer? Someone kill me now. 

Okay. Enough with the bad puns. 

Rage has evidently decided to skip the bad movie lines ("This is a hold up!" No duh, we know that) and gets straight to the part where he slips a knife out of his pocket. I see the bulge of a gun in his jacket, and, wincing, I head for the wall. Maybe he won't notice me. Or maybe he'll think I have a hot ass. I turn around, giving him a prime view. It wouldn't be too bad to get raped by this guy.

"Money," he grunts to the teller. "Now." 

She gets right to it, and begins to fumble for cash. As she does so, Rage surveys the bank. Everyone is frozen in place… except for one boy. Greasy-haired and sallow-skinned, he has a patch of hair on his chin that I, along with everyone else on the planet, am itching to shave off. It looks so unnatural.

Rage is apparently thinking along those same lines, because he gestures for the boy to come over to him. 

The kid does. 

Brilliant, really. Walking up to a known mass murderer. Then again, it doesn't look like this kid has ever seen the inside of a shower, so maybe he's homeless and doesn't have a TV or something.

Before I can censor my internal wit, the kid is standing right next to Rage, and there's not even a split second's pause before Rage has a gun against the kid's head. 

It fires. 

I hear the explosion and I tear my eyes away, not wanting to see the blood. 

Everyone is rushing out of the bank, tearing for the door. Rage lets them, watching the boy's blood rush over his hands. Cell phone calls are placed to the police, but I just stand there, frozen, resisting the pull of the blond teller as she attempts to usher me out of the bank. I stand in the corner, watching the suddenly vulnerable expression on the man's face.

"Hey," I say gently, walking over to him slowly. "You okay?" 

He shakes his head like he doesn't even know he's doing it. He's holding his knife in one hand and a fistful of the boy's greasy hair in the other, and suddenly he's slicing it off. I wince. All that dirt and grease. Well, I wouldn't want it on _my_ hands.

"Are you okay?" I repeat as he shoves the handful of hair into his pocket. 

Suddenly I'm struck by the fact that he's still in possession of a gun. For whatever reason, I don't feel very mortal. I feel… strong. I feel like I could tickle this guy and he wouldn't bat an eye. 

Gruffly, he informs me, "I could kill you." 

In the silence, I try to come up with some sort of retort. I hear sirens in the distance, so it's not really silence… but then it is, for a moment, or at least more silent than it is a moment later when Rage finally releases his grip on the boy's neck and lets him fall to the ground. It's a hollow sort of sound. He's dead, that much is obvious. He was probably dead even before Rage took the clump of hair from him. 

"I know you could," I tell him steadily, but I'm still not scared. I'm dizzy, that's what I am, and I feel absolutely, one hundred percent untouchable.

He seems to be questioning my bravery-slash-stupidity, because he narrows his eyes and demands, "Why aren't you scared?" 

A million answers come to mind. Half of them are dramatic, a quarter of them are lies, and most of them don't really give any answer at all. I give the best answer I have: "You don't look too dangerous, standing there with blood on your hands and regret in your eyes." 

Something flares up inside him. I know I've hit a nerve, because he snaps, "I _don't_ regret it. Not anything." 

"Yeah, well," I say sharply, "you look like you just ruined your life in the span of about ten seconds. Do you look like this with every innocent bystander you kill, or is just the ugly ones?" 

He looks like he might have laughed, under different circumstances, and I take that as an enormous compliment. I'm not exactly sure how to take what he says next, which is: "Only the ones I see myself in." 

"How about me?" I ask brightly. "Do you see yourself in me?" 

With a snort, he makes a quick gesture to the crotch of his tight jeans and murmurs, "Hell, yeah. Ever wanted to fuck a murderer?" 

Ah. So he's gay. 

"I can't say it's at the top of my to-do list," I drawl, "but I wouldn't mind giving it a shot." 

And in some unbelievable, unexpected, inexplicable turn of events, he slips out the back door of the bank with me and we get down to business in the alleyway. Afterwards, he ducks into a black Jeep, leaving me on the sidewalk, utterly bewildered.

\---

I don't put it out of my mind. Who could? First off, that was my first time. Second, he is the hottest guy I've ever seen. And third, he is a mass murderer. All three reasons to make that the most memorable fuck of my life. 

Then again, it's not like I've had any other fucks in the past to compare it to.

Or am likely to have any in the future, presuming that he stays on my mind the way he is. God. Some people have nightmares about mass murderers and wake up in cold sweats; I have wet dreams and wake up… well, you know the rest. 

After one of them, it's too early to get ready for school, so I cross over to my computer and go to a search engine. I type in his name. RAGE.

Sure enough, an article comes up entitled "Known Pennsylvania Killer Strikes Again." It cites three days ago as the date of his latest attack – at a bank in Pittsburgh, of course. Apparently he hasn't moved around since then. Great. 

But that's not what I'm looking for. I click on another article, this one talking about everything that is known about this murderer. 

His birth name is known, apparently. Brian Aiden Kinney. They call him Rage because he gets _so pissed off_ , and besides, RAGE is what it said on the license plate of his very first getaway cars. (He's learned enough to keep switching since then, but it's only natural that when he was young and impressionable, he liked the drama and glamour.) 

It's like he's a celebrity or something – he was on FBI's Most Wanted, and yet we know all this stuff about him. He's gay – that's no secret. Usually he's fucked his victims. I cringe, imagining this beautiful man having sex with the greasy kid from the bank. Ew. And then I remember that he's fucked me… so is he going to kill me now? Or is it that he's fucked all the people he kills, but he doesn't kill all the people he fucks?

Oh, _whatever_. 

Fuck, my best bet of seeing him again – imagine that, a kid _seeking out_ a mass murderer, and this kid isn't even Harry fucking Potter – is probably hanging around the bank. 

\---

Bingo. 

Well, he's not actually in the bank. (Got enough money three days ago, I presume.) He's smoking outside, wearing big sunglasses. People are getting stupider. Shades make people wonder who you are, I always thought. Apparently not, as they're not bothering him. 

"Hey," I say, sidling up to him. Wait. Am I fucking stupid? Why am I bothering a _mass murderer_?

He nods to me and pinches his cigarette, drawing it away from his mouth. "Want?"

I shake my head. "I'm seventeen," I tell him.

I see it in his eyes, he's pissed. Apparently it's unnerving to learn that one has fucked a teenager. I'll keep that in mind, but as a teenager myself, I'm not too worried. 

Then I'm hit by a sudden inspiration. I lean forward, pluck his cigarette out of his mouth, and take a long drag on it. Then, of course, I start coughing violently. _Fuck_. Why isn't it as easy as it looks in movies?

He looks at me appraisingly and glances around, like it would tarnish his perfect image to be seen with me. God. It would tarnish his perfect criminal record – I assume – to be seen at all. 

"Is that your car?" I ask, gesturing to a black Jeep parked nearby. 

"As of three days ago," he drawls. 

I wince. So he stole it. 

COOL!

"Where are you going next?" I ask brightly.

He narrows his eyes. "Why should I tell you?"

I'm struck by inspiration. My life is boring. I live with my parents and sister, who are WASPs, and I go to WASP school to learn how to be a WASP when I grow up. Fuck WASPs. "Well," I say slowly, my fingers tucked into the waistband of his jeans, "I was wondering… maybe I could come with you." 

Rage bursts out laughing. Then he sees I'm serious, and rolls his eyes. "Fuck no. I'm not lugging some kid around." 

"Think of it as… an internship," I suggest. 

He snorts. "For a murderer?"

"For a… well, for a… prestigious… profession," I reply.

"You're going to need to give better head than that to get what you want," Rage informs me bluntly. 

No way. Nope. Not giving up. 

"But, uh, Rage, sir – " 

He cackles and lays a hand on my shoulder. "It's _Brian_ ," he tells me. "Brian." 

"I know," I say. "I did my research. But I thought you would prefer – " 

He's impressed; I can see it in his eyes. He smiles. Just a little. " _Kid_ ," he says, and after I cut him off and tell him it's _Justin_ , he sighs. " _Justin_ ," he amends, "you're a smart kid. You have potential for better things than chasing after a criminal. When I'm thirty, that's it, I'm _done_. I'll be slow. Someone'll catch me one day, and that's it, I'll be headed for the chair or forced to handle it myself. You don't want that." 

_Handle it himself? Kill himself?_

"Are you kidding?" I snort. "You could never get caught. You're too fast and too _good_ , and besides, catching you would take all the fun out of it. People love the chase. They don't want to end it." 

"Yes," he says slowly, as if I were retarded, "but I kill people. That is a bad thing."

"Believe it or not, I knew that," I retort. "Still…you're _interesting_. People wouldn't want to put you away. You're like a celebrity. Would they put Paris Hilton in jail?" 

He sighs. "And you want to be a celebrity too," he drawls. 

I shrug. "It'd be nice," I say bluntly. "Look. I'm a hard worker and a good listener. I'll do whatever you tell me to," I say, tugging on his waistband to indicate what kind of tasks I can perform. "I'll even do the gory jobs like taking prisoners. And I know how to shoot a gun." Well, that's a lie, but how hard can it be? You just pull the trigger. "Besides, people don't know me. I'm not famous, and _look at me_ ; do I look like a criminal? If I go into a bank, people aren't going to think anything of it, but I have a nice enough ass to distract them from you." 

He looks like he's considering it. _Bingo_! 

"And," I continue, to keep him thinking about it, "if you get tired, I can drive." I dangle my driver's license in the air in front of him. "Or if you don't want people to see you – you can duck, and I'll drive. And – this is a good one," I warn him, " – you can make it look like I'm your prisoner, so people will give you money so you don't kill me. I don't look like an accomplice, so if I go into a bank and you go in two minutes later, you can grab me like you're holding me hostage and you don't even have to feel guilty about really hurting or scaring someone." 

There. I got him. He's convinced. 

"Well," he says, trying his very best to sound like he doesn't care one way or the other, "I suppose it would be nice to have a piece of blond boy ass along for the ride." 

Oh, come on, Brian. We both know that's not the only reason. 

But I'm not complaining. "Meet me back here in a half hour," I tell him. "I have to go talk to my parents."

Oh, crap. 

He smirks as I leave.

\---

Fortunately, Mom and Dad aren't home when I get there. Molly is – she's draped over the couch, doing either homework or some sort of elaborate crossword puzzle. "Hey," I say, and bound up the stairs to grab some things to bring along. She follows me, and I'm just shoving clothes into a backpack when she leans against the doorframe. 

"Where're you going?" she asks in that obnoxious little-sister tone of hers. 

I look cool. Sophisticated. Perfectly calm. At least, I hope I do. "Daphne's," I say. 

"I thought she was in Cancun," Molly says, narrowing her eyes. 

Crap. Uh… "She just got back," I inform her. Okay, so Daphne's not scheduled to get back for another week, but Molly doesn't know that. Besides, it's not like I have any other friends I could say I'm going to see. 

"Mom said we're not supposed to go out since there's a murderer in town," Molly continues, going through some of my magazines. Fuck. Those are porn. I snatch them out of her hands. 

I roll my eyes. "What she doesn't know isn't going to kill me," I reply. Well, that's debatable. 

"Ever heard of him?" Molly continues, and now she's climbing up the doorframe. How does she do it?

I snort, and decide to give little Molly a crash course in sarcasm. " _Yes_ , Molly," I drawl. "Of course I've heard of him. Actually, you know what? I'm going out with him. He's my _boyfriend_." I swing the backpack full of clothes over my shoulder, grab my cell phone from the shelf, and head out of my room and down the stairs for the door. 

"Later," I call, and close the door. 

When I get to the driveway, a black Jeep is sitting there, waiting for me, and suddenly I know what just happened with Molly. 

\---

_Day One: July 8, 2000_

_Pittsburgh_ _, Pennsylvania_ __

_14:45:22_

"Can I turn on the radio?" I plead. The silence is just about killing me, and if I can't talk to Brian, I may as well hear that sexy guy who does the noon-to-four on my favorite radio station.

"No." 

I frown. "Can I put on a CD?"

"No." 

"Can I give you a blow job?" It's sarcasm. He knows that, of course. 

He shrugs. "If you want." We're at a red light, and I take the opportunity to unzip his pants and get to work. 

I wonder what my cut of the earnings will be…

\---

_Day Two: July 9, 2000_

_US Pennsylvania State Highway_ __

_02:11:28_

"Where do we sleep?" I whine. 

His hand is on my mouth faster than I can close it, and suddenly he's leaning in my ear and hissing, "You _ever_ whine like that again and you'll be on the side of the road faster than you can say 'Rage.' Is that fucking clear?"

Wow. Scary much? This is actually the first time he's scared me since I first saw him. He didn't even scare me when he killed that kid. 

I shut up promptly, and five minutes later, he's turning into an exit. I read the sign quickly.

HOLIDAY INN – 3 ½ MILES

Is he kidding? The _Holiday Inn?_ Murderers stay at places like that? 

"We're going to the Holiday Inn?" I ask in disbelief. 

He snorts. "Fuck, no. We're _going_ where I say we're going." 

Ten minutes later, he turns again, and I peek out the window to see where we are. It's dark, but I can see this well enough: It's the most gorgeous hotel I've ever seen, and as a WASP, I've seen plenty. It's huge. There's a waterfall and a garden and gorgeous cobblestones and oh my _god_ , we're staying _here_?

The valet goes to park the car. I take my backpack and, wide-eyed, follow Brian inside. This is amazing.

"Room for Kinney, please," he tells the balding man behind the counter. 

"That appears to be a single, sir," the man tells him, barely looking up. 

Brian's eyes flash. Now I see why they call him Rage. 

"We'll have you moved to a double at once, sir," the man stammers. 

"No," Brian interrupts. "On second thought, the single will be fine. The bed is a king, I presume?" 

I grin. This just keeps getting better and better. A few minutes later, he puts an arm around my waist, fingers brushing the waistband of my pants, and we go up in the elevator to the sixth floor, where we collapse on the bed and… well, you know the rest. 

\---

_Day Six: July 13, 2000_

_Pittsburgh_ _, Pennsylvania_ __

_11:13:45_

"Kid," he says, shaking me awake. We're in the car, but after getting to sleep so late last night and getting such an early start (six!) this morning, I'm exhausted. We only slept for three hours! How does he live like this? 

Then I remember that he normally doesn't bring people on his little adventures, so normally he sleeps longer. Right. 

"Kid," Brian repeats. "We're here. Go in there and distract someone." 

I raise my eyebrows. "This is the Pirates' Stadium," I tell him, as if he didn't know.

"So it is," he says mildly. "Go in and distract the person in front. I'll be in in a few." 

"But – " I interrupt – "security's really tight here. You could get in trouble." 

His eyes do that flashing thing they did last night, and he informs me, "That's part of the thrill. Now go in there and do your fucking job. That's what I'm giving you a cut for, isn't it?" 

"I get a cut?" 

He sighs. "Go the fuck inside." 

I obey with a spring in my step. 

\---

_Day Fourteen: July 21, 2000_

_US Pennsylvania State Highway_ __

_24:54:48_

We've been on the road nonstop since we raided the Pirates' Stadium. I have no idea where we're going, but it promises to be exciting. 

\---

_Day Twenty: July 27, 2000_

_Philadelphia_ _, Pennsylvania_ __

_8:24:48_

I've actually never been to Philly before, but it's weird. It's cleaner than the Pitts, which I guess is why they call it the Pitts, because it stinks. One thing I just can't figure out is why we came all the way here. 

Brian says it's going to be the raid of the lifetime, but when he finally parks the car, we walk another block from there. I understand _that_ – people might recognize his Jeep and freak out. 

Then we stop… in front of a house. 

That's all, just a house. Nothing special. A regular, ordinary house. 

Brian digs in the back of the Jeep for a second, then emerges with a white manila envelope. "Ring the bell," he orders me. "Someone's gonna answer it. If it's a blonde woman, give her this." He hands me the envelope. "If it's a brunette who looks like she has a pole up her ass, ask to speak to Lindsay. If she says she's not there, say it's Rage business. And if whoever answers has a kid with them, tell him Daddy says hi." 

He heads back to the car, leaving me alone on the doorstep. 

Nervously, I ring the bell. 

I hear a crashing sound and someone yelling "Fuck!" Well, that's awkward. Even more awkward than Brian's speech. He has a kid? Really? That's so weird. I never pegged him as the type, honestly. Well, obviously, he's not exactly being Super Dad, so maybe it was just an accident.

Even though he's gay…

Finally, a woman comes to the door. She definitely fits under the category of Not Lindsay, because her hair is dark, her shirt mussed, and she definitely looks like Super Bitch. I've heard Brian talk about a woman named Lindsay before, and it's odd, but from his descriptions she seemed more… likeable. 

"Hi," I say nervously. "Um, is Lindsay there?" 

She glares. Seeing the envelope in my hands, a million thoughts seem to fly through her head. Finally, she asks, "Who may I say is here?" 

"Rage business," I say shortly. 

The look on her face is priceless. She looks horrified and terrified and infuriated all at once. "LINDS!" she yells. "GET DOWN HERE! IT'S THE BASTARD!" 

What a charming nickname. Honestly. 

"It's Brian?" someone yells back. I assume that someone is Lindsay. 

"He sent a messenger," the brunette snaps as a blonde woman steps up behind her, arms crossed over her otherwise bare chest. I shield my eyes. Gross. 

Trailing behind Lindsay is a little boy. I proffer the envelope to Lindsay and, before the women can kick me out, I kneel down on the doorstep and say, "Hey, kiddo." 

The boy hides behind one of his mothers, and I continue, "Your daddy told me to tell you 'Hi.'" 

Super Bitch growls, "Where is he? Where's the asshole?" 

"I," I say indignantly, "am not at liberty to say." 

She is mighty pissed off. "Listen here, kid," she snaps. "What I have to say to that fucker of yours is more important than anything that could ever come out of your mouth, so I suggest you tell me where he is, or I'll – " 

I hear a gunshot. Oh, _god_ , Brian…

The women hear it as well, and the boy scampers down the steps onto the sidewalk. Super Bitch lunges after him, while Lindsay remains inside the house so as to protect her innocent neighbors from seeing her girl parts. Good choice. 

Then I see Brian for a fleeting second – he ducks across the street in front of traffic and reaches for the kid just as Super Bitch grabs his tiny wrist. They pull at him for a second, but the boy squirms and wails, and Super Bitch isn't as strong as Brian. Bri grabs the kid and heads for the Jeep, and before he even yells my name, which he does, I turn to follow. 

The women chase after us, but we're guys and we have a lot of practice with getaways. Besides, we blacked up the license plate, so they can't even recognize us. As they're getting closer and closer to the car, Brian pulls away. Worrying about retaliation from whoever Brian shot, I push the little boy beneath the seat so he can't get hit. 

And… we're gone. 

"Daddy," the boy says, climbing onto the my lap when I let him know it's safe. He tugs at Brian's sleeve. "Daddy," he repeats.

"You have a son?" I inquire, but don't demand. 

Brian laughs. "In a way. You asked me if I loved anyone once, remember?" 

I do. 

"And I said yes? Well, this is him. Gus, this is Justin. Justin, meet my son, Gus." 

\---

_Day Thirty: August 6, 2000_

_New York_ _, New York_ __

_15:24:48_

Ever heard of Rage? He was a mass murderer earlier this year. Killed people and stole money. Maybe you remember him from FBI's Most Wanted. 

Well, they knew his name, so you'd think it would be easy for them to find him. Once he resigned from the business, he legally changed his name, though, and nobody has ever managed to catch a glimpse of him since. Or if they have, they don't recognize him. 

Now he goes by the name Brian Taylor, which he says is just a temporary thing until everyone forgets about Rage and he can go by his real name again. But if it's just a fake-out, he's doing a lot just to be forgotten. He moved out of Pittsburgh and bought a Manhattan apartment, in which he currently resides with his four-year-old son, Gus, and his husband, Justin. 

Oh, yeah. That's me. I got a job doing police sketches, of all things, while Brian works at an advertising agency on Madison Avenue. Gus goes to Debbie's Day Care in the Lower East Side, where a woman named Debbie Novotny has named Gus her favorite pupil of all time. (I bet she says that to all the boys.)

But even though Brian doesn't kill anymore, some months he's short on the utility bills (bullshit, I say, but let him say what he wants), and we just make a quick trip to the bank. I bet it's not like the one _you_ make when it's time to pay your bills…

No, he doesn't steal money. He just fucks the teller. But it's a nice story, isn't it?


	3. Three: The Bet

Enter a world where lust means loathing; loathing, lust.

Brian Kinney and Justin Taylor are the gay gods of St. James' Preparatory High School in a sense very close to literal. Each has his own little pack of fangirls, fanboys, the adoration of at least one teacher, at least one varsity team insisting that he join, and at least one varsity team with a vendetta against him. In addition, each boy has about a hundred nominations for various student positions each year, the insistence of the prom committee to run for prom king, and a group of religious fanatics, lesbians, and/or jocks insisting that he should be expelled immediately. 

And the punchline? They abhor one another.

No. The word "abhor" isn't nearly strong enough to describe the sentiments each boy feels for the other. A more appropriate term might be "loathing," or perhaps "passionate hatred." Whatever the word, they fight nearly every time they come into contact with one another, constantly bitch and moan about how much better life would be without the other, and most importantly, deny any and all accusations that they would make a cute couple. 

Which, of course, doesn't keep the student body from talking. 

Everyone knows that most instances of strong dislike (for high school students, anyway) are merely disguised attraction. To the students and teachers of St. James' Preparatory High School, the clearly passionate dislike that Brian has for Justin and Justin for Brian is nothing more than lust. 

Sometimes, without meaning to, the boys let on to their attraction to one another. They keep eye contact longer than necessary in the hallways, their glares icy cold to keep anyone from thinking that they like each other. They seem to be almost obsessed with each other – when party invitations are handed out, each is the first to ask if the other boy will be present. (The answer rarely impacts their decisions; neither Justin nor Brian has ever been known to miss a party.) 

It's a tricky little guise the boys keep up, their impersonation of archenemies. Maybe they really do hate each other – who knows? All that's clear is that they want each other in bed. 

Badly.

And as far as their fanboys are concerned, this whole war they keep up is all about who gets to top.

They place bets.

\---

It happens on October the eighth. 

Brian and Justin are approximately one-fifth of the way through a very loud argument in the hallway between Justin's chemistry class and Brian's AP History. They know that they are one-fifth of the way through because Justin has just dropped the one-fifth-of-the-way-through-our-fight bomb: "You don't care about anyone, not even your friends."

Then someone walks by, and neither of them can focus on their little argument anymore. 

Daphne, one of Justin's most prized fangirls, whistles loudly.

"Who's that?" Brian asks sharply. 

Cynthia, _his_ most prized fangirl and closest fag hag, is quick to reply. "That's Emmett Honeycutt. He just moved here from Mississippi. Isn't he _cute_?" 

Brian doesn't answer, too busy watching the boy's ass as he bends over to unlock his locker. 

Then, of course, in true high school fashion, Emmett drops the stack of books in his arms, causing them to splay out all over the floor. At the same time, Brian and Justin bolt towards the boy, but Brian sticks out his foot, causing Justin to trip and stumble away, muttering about assholes who can't keep their cock and hands and feet to themselves. 

"Hey," Brian says, leaning against the locker beside Emmett. He doesn't bend down to help the other boy pick up his books. That's not his style. Instead, he smirks a little bit and asks, "Need some help?" 

In a warm, adorably accented if slightly frustrated voice, Emmett replies, "No, I've got it under control – "

And then he looks up. 

Brian almost drops his jaw, but restrains himself. The boy kneeling by his locker is flat-out _adorable_ , with light green eyes and a _perfect_ body, and lips that are _just_ pinker than average, not enough to be overly noticeable but not nearly enough to not be noticed.

And Emmett looks a bit impressed himself, either with Brian's outward appearance or… well, Brian's outward appearance.

Brian grins at him. "Not bad," he says, sweeping the boy up and down with his eyes. "Love the pink shirt. Am I to make my assumptions, then?" 

Emmett eyes him like he's not quite sure what's going on, but nods. "In case you can't tell from my voice and my walk, the shirt'll always do it," he says with a chuckle. "I'm Emmett Honeycutt. I'm a junior."

Brian doesn't normally go for younger men, but he'll have to make an exception this time. "Brian Kinney," he says, sticking out his hand to shake Emmett's. "You'll be hearing my name a lot around here." 

"If the posse is any indication," Emmett agrees, gesturing to the crowd standing around where Brian and Justin were just fighting. "Are those your friends?" 

Brian shrugs. "Fangirls, fanboys. Random kids who want to touch my hair. Archenemies." 

"I see," Emmett says. Then he gathers the last few books from his hands, places them inside his meticulously-cleaned locker, and glances at his watch. "Almost time for lunch," he remarks. 

Realizing that _this is how they must do things in Mississippi_ , Brian sighs. "I'll sneak you off campus for lunch." 

Emmett smiles. "I'd like that," he says, and swings something that vaguely resembles a purse over his shoulder before standing up and following Brian to one of the school's many side exits.

Justin, the fangirls, and the fanboys look on in amazement.

\---

As a self-confessed slut (that is, if a topcan be called a slut), it isn't often that Brian Kinney decides to spend time with someone without pursuing something in the process. So over lunch with Emmett, though sex is not Brian's immediate aim, it is his long-time goal. In the meantime, he works on seduction, which is his specialty.

Apart from various sexual techniques, that is.

"So," Emmett says between licking the duck sauce off his fingers as he dips noodles into the sauce. "Tell me something about St. James'. Some gossip." 

A brilliant idea pops into Brian's head, and he leans closer to Emmett for a moment. "You may have noticed, by the lockers earlier, that there appeared to be two sides to that charming little educational discussion that was going on." 

Emmett chuckles. "Something like that," he says. 

"Well," Brian continues, "the other side was led by a boy named Justin Taylor. I'm sure you'll hear his name around a lot, too." 

"I'll keep that in mind," says Emmett, leaning forward to take a sip of his water from the straw. Brian tries not to imagine those lips around something… wider. Something preferably attatched to his body. "Is that the drama?" 

Brian sighs, and shakes his head. "No, no. Well, it almost is. The drama is, young Justin Taylor, the golden boy of St. James', says he's looking for love and romance and hearts and flowers and all that. But really, when the sun goes down and the street lights go on, he's just as much a club boy as the rest of them. As the rest of _us_."

Emmett laughs. "Really? Well, hypocrites are to be avoided like the plague. But if the boy you mean is the boy I _think_ you mean – well – he has his qualities."

"Like his ass? Well, I admit, that thing is just _begging_ to be tapped, but the second you do, he'll start asking for more. If you tell him no, you'll have a stalker for life. If you tell him yes, you'll have yourself a little boyfriend." 

Brian smirks. 

"You're quite the bitch, aren't you?" Emmett asks pleasantly. 

"Indeed," Brian replies. 

After a moment's pause, he turns and motions for the waiter. "I'll get this," he says unnecessarily, but he forages around in his pockets for a few minutes too long, and when he finally does come up with the money, a lot of it is in change. Emmett knows better than to say anything, but leans back on his chair, watching something across the room.

"Almost time for sixth period," Brian says, standing up and pulling on his coat. "May I?" he asks Emmett, holding the other boy's coat out for him. Smiling, Emmett pushes back from the table and allows Brian to slip the coat on him. 

"How unlike you, from what I've heard," Emmett says.

Brian does a double-take. "What?" 

"Well, my knowledge of you tells me that you're quite the player, Mr. Kinney," Emmett says chirpily.

"And who told you that?" asks Brian sharply. 

Emmett whistles. "Now, now," he says sweetly. "If I told you that, I wouldn't be a man of mystery, now would I?" He takes several steps towards the door. "Shall we?" 

Completely whipped, for the very first time in his life, Brian follows. 

\---

"So?" Cynthia asks as Brian slips into sixth period, several minutes late and with snow in his hair. Still, the teacher has not yet arrived, as is always the case – isn't it? 

Brian grins wickedly. "I'll say nothing," he says.

Cynthia rolls her eyes. "Not going to fuck and tell? Please, Brian. We all _know_ you fuck and tell. Now, what was it. A blowjob? Mutual handjob? Rim job? The _whole damn thing_?" 

"Oh, come on, Cyn," Brian murmurs back as the teacher steps into the room. "Don't tell me you couldn't tell from the first ten seconds that the boy's a virgin. And a hot one, at that. He and I have some work to do before I can fuck and tell."

"So you intend to make a game out of it?" asks Cynthia, her eyes twinkling. 

Brian grins. "Do you know me or what?" 

The plotting session is sharply interrupted by the snap of Mr. Vance. "Brian! Cynthia!" he barks. "I'll thank you two to pay attention!"

The unscrupulous pair exchanges smirks, and Mr. Vance just sighs. He can't help their behavior, just as he can't help giving them straight A's. 

\---

"Enough is enough," Justin barks, pulling Brian into the boys' bathroom between periods seven and eight. "What the fuck are you doing with him?" 

As elegantly as possible, Brian bats Justin's hands away. "I'm sorry," he says. "But I don't divulge my sex life to my nemeses. Particularly when they grope without asking."

Justin huffs. Brian has to admit, it's hot to see the blonde all worked up. 

"Is there something I can help you with?" asks Brian, turning toward the urinals and unzipping. He doesn't hesitate to let his pants drop all the way down to his ankles, making sure Justin has a prime view of his ass. Brian may have been dragged into the bathroom without his consent, and may not actually have to go, but fuck, he's going to milk this for all it's worth. 

Angrily, Justin snaps, "Yes, there is!" 

"Well, if you let me know, I'll do my very best to oblige," Brian informs him dryly. "But hurry up, now. Eighth period starts in only – " he checks his watch – "six minutes."

Justin sighs. "You have _no right_ to claim Emmett, and more importantly, you have no right to tell him lies about me. Hearts and flowers and bullshit? Kinney, you _know_ that's not my style."

"As I told him," Brian continues, wondering if it would be okay to light a cigarette. It seems like the most offhanded thing to do, so he does, and takes a long drag on it before casually offering Justin some. The blonde turns away in disgust. "I told him you had no interest in hearts and flowers," Brian continues.

"But you told him that's how I act," Justin whines. "You said I make it out like I'm going for romance, but then I jump people's bones."

Using the nickname by which so many teachers refer to Justin, Brian mocks, "Suck it up, Sunshine. All's fair in love and war. And this – well, quite honestly, this is a bit of both."

Gaping, Justin snarls, "You don't _love_ him."

"Ah," Brian interrupts. "Did I say that? No. But by the time I'm done, I can guarantee that there will be some… well, skeptical feelings on his part." 

"I thought you didn't believe in love," Justin reminds him.

Brian sighs. "How much do you want to bet _he_ does?" 

"Well, it's not quite fair to fuck someone with romantic notions," Justin murmurs. "Poor baby. He might start showing up at your door, serenading you at midnight. And then you'd have to come out to Mommy and Daddy. That, or come up with a very good explanation."

Brian rolls his eyes. "It'll just be a fuck," he interrupts. "I'll be sure to cure him of those idiotic notions before I fuck him. And – during. And after."

"I'm sure," Justin deadpans. " _Not_ , however, if I get there first."

"You won't," Brian assures him. "I promise you, Taylor. You won't."

Looking irritated, Justin shoots back, "You want to bet on that?"

_Ah, thinks Brian, blowing smoke rings into the blonde's face. This is where it gets interesting._

"Certainly, Taylor," he says, taking a seat atop one of the sinks. "What terms did you have in mind?" 

Justin's face is glazed over with a calculating expression. After a moment, he hops onto the sink beside Brian. "It's simple, Kinney," he says in that cheerful, _kind_ voice he uses with his fanboys and fangirls. "You and I have only ever wanted one thing from each other. Winner gets it." 

"You mean that if I fuck Emmett Honeycutt before you do," Brian reiterates, "I will get to fuck your brains out." 

"If you had any chance of beating me to him," says Justin sweetly, "I'd say yes. However, chances are far higher of my fucking _your_ brains out, Kinney."

A glaring contest ensues. 

Then, Emmett walks into the bathroom, his magenta shirt alerting Brian and Justin to their visitor long before they see his face. "Hey," says Brian. Emmett greets him, then quickly steps into a stall. 

Pleased with their new bet, the boys shake on it and exit.

\---

"So," Justin says at his house that afternoon, between the hours of four and six. He is relaxing on his bed, Emmett lying beside him as the boys alternate taking drags on a joint. Of course this isn't allowed in the WASPy home of Craig and Jennifer Taylor, but they shouldn't be home until long after Emmett's gone, at which point it won't be perfectly humiliating to be bitched out for doing drugs – not just doing drugs, but doing them in the house. "Have you ever had sex?" 

Emmett laughs, and Justin's heart beats a little slower, delighted to find that Emmett isn't either horrifically offended or utterly shocked by the question. "Nah," he replies, and it's just as Justin feared. All his worst nightmares have been confirmed. Then again, he's good with virgins. Brian scares them away, but Justin… well, he's gentle, and something about him just _draws_ them to him. 

"Any particular reason?" asks Justin, trying to keep his tone offhanded.

There's a shift on the bed, and Justin realizes that Emmett shrugged. "I'm not waiting for love," he says quickly, "so don't think that. It's just… I want it to be memorable, you know? Not just something quick and fast, like at the clubs." He laughs. "I mean, I _have_ a fake I.D. I have no problem with clubs. I go to them all the time. But I don't want my first time to be as impersonal as all that. My second time? Third time? No problem. Bring it on. But I don't want to look back and say, 'This is what happened the first time I had sex' and not to remember absolutely anything special."

Justin nods, as if he understands, but really he's plotting. Special, hmm? He wants special?

"Well… it's kind of weird to be asking this now," Justin says slowly, putting on a very good impression of nervousness. "Except… do you think we could go out sometime? Just to dinner or something, nothing fancy, but… it'd be good to spend some time with you outside of school." 

Emmett wrinkles his nose. "This is outside of school."

Justin sighs. "I mean in a romantic atmosphere." 

Emmett crushes the joint into the ashtray that Justin set out. "I never would have guessed you'd be into romance, Mr. Taylor," he says steadily. "I have to say you've surprised me."

"I am a man of mystery," Justin says, self-satisfied, and lights up another joint.

\---

Less than a minute after Justin ushers Emmett out the front door later, and less than five minutes before Justin's parents arrive home, Justin rushes back upstairs and calls his most prized fangirl and favorite fag hag, Daphne Chanders. 

Daphne, who has already been informed of the bet between the boys, is eager to find out this new revelation: "He agreed to go out with me," Justin informs her cheerfully, spraying air freshener around his room to eliminate the smell of pot. 

"Are dates the same thing as sex?" Daphne asks, clearly confused. Justin laughs. "'Cause, I had this date, once," Daphne continues, "with this guy Billy. And he was cool and all, but there was no sex. None!" 

Justin rolls his eyes. "Fancy that," he murmurs, putting the cap on the air freshener and storing it in the cabinet under his television. "So," he says, leaning back on his chair, the phone held against his ear by his shoulder. "I think I'll borrow some money from Dad, say I'm taking you out, then go get Emmett. We'll go for dinner. Someplace nice. Really expensive, classy and stuff." 

Even over the phone Justin can hear Daphne's eyes twinkling. "Maybe he'll want to pay you back," she suggests wickedly. 

"I should hope so," Justin replies, twirling his tie around his finger. Suddenly struck by the urge to pick out an outfit, he holds the phone away from his ear for a moment, then says, "Oh, gotta go, Daph. Call waiting. I'll call you later, okay?" 

"Mhm," replies Daphne. "If it's Emmett, let him know he's adorable!" 

Justin rolls his eyes and hangs up, then goes to investigate the contents of his closet. 

\---

Brian is lying on his bed, flipping through a magazine, when his phone rings. Much as he would like to ignore it entirely, his parents are out and his sister is having some sort of makeover party, so he rolls onto his side and grabs the phone from his nightstand. 

"Kinney," he says gruffly. It always amuses him to impersonate his father on the phone, if only for a few moments before someone either figures it out or asks to speak to someone else.

The line is quiet for a moment, but then there's a voice. A very familiar, Southern-accented voice. "Yeah, um, hello, is Brian there?" Emmett asks, clearly intimidated by Brian's "father."

Not wanting to seem desperate but suddenly not so focused on that, Brian quickly switches his voice over to his usual. "Hey, what's up?"

Emmett's grin is audible over the phone. "Hey," he says. "I, um, I just got asked on a date."

Brian stifles a groan. It's not because he thinks it's some innocent bystander to the bet whose actions are going to make this all the more difficult for Brian and Justin – rather, he knows who it was. "Taylor," he hisses. 

"Um – yeah," Emmett says. "How'd you know?" 

_Oh, great. "Well, I know Taylor," Brian says dismissively. "I could tell by the way he was looking you how badly he wants to tap your cute little ass."_

Emmett laughs. "He wants to fuck _me_?" 

_Gladly, thinks Brian._

"Yeah," Brian goes on. "He always does this to people. First date, he takes 'em out and showers them with expensive food and gifts, but then he expects a blowjob in the car. If you don't give it to him, he sends you the bill for the dinner and the presents." 

Emmett is clearly shocked when he replies, "Oh. I – uh – I didn't know that." 

"Now," Brian continues, going in for the kill, "if _I_ took you out, it wouldn't be like that. We'd go to a club, Babylon maybe, and get good and drunk. Then we'd go back to my house, confess our deepest, darkest secrets under the pretense that we just babble when we're drunk, and have a smoke. Maybe I'd jerk you off. But no bullshit. No candlelit dinners or anything like that."

Emmett doesn't sound horribly averse to the idea. "Um," is all he can say, but it's not so much an annoyed or frustrated utterance as it is an awkward one. Which is fine, because it's a pretty awkward thing for Brian to say. He only said it, after all, to see Emmett squirm. "But in the meantime, I have an emergency to discuss with you."

  
"You do?"

"Yes," says Emmett firmly. "I need you to come over to my house, because my date with Justin is tomorrow night and I need outfit tips." 

Bewildered, Brian laughs and asks, "Why are you asking me?" 

"Because if anyone can dress professionally, it's you," Emmett replies smoothly. "I've seen those labels on your coats and stuff, Brian. Come on. Help me out?" Brian can practically hear him pouting. "For a friend?" 

"Fine," Brian grumbles, shoving a pack of cigarettes into his coat pocket and swinging it over his arm. "But you owe me."

Emmett shrieks. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" he squeals, and Brian hangs up the phone. 

\---

_Ding-dong._

Through the translucent glass in the front door, Brian can see Emmett standing at the top of the stairs. It looks for a moment as if he plans to walk down, but then the boy smoothes out his pants, straddles the top of the banister, and slides all the way down, landing peacefully at the foot of the steps. After smoothing out his pants yet again, Emmett opens the door and lets Brian in. "Hey," he says. 

"Nice performance up there," Brian says with a nod to the top of the steps, sidestepping Emmett to peer around the house. "And _nice_ house." He whistles. "Fuck, if my place were half as nice as this, I'd… well, for one thing, I'd have a much better sex life." 

Emmett chuckles. "Is sex all you can think about?" he teases. Brian can't quite hear the playful humor in his voice, so he decides to go for a serious response. 

Serious. Not truthful. 

"Well, I think about other things too," he says, keeping his voice quiet as he hears someone – a cleaning lady? Emmett's mother? – bustling around in the kitchen. "I think about you." 

Laughing, Emmett insists, "No, you don't." 

"I do, actually. Sometimes I think about you and sex at the same time. Want to use a little creativity there, princess?"

A very pink, very defined blush creeps up Emmett's cheeks – one just as noticeable as the tent creeping up in Emmett's crotch.

Time to go in for the kill. 

"But – well, that's a fantasy for another day," Brian says abruptly. "Now, then. About your outfit."

He gets a head start up the stairs and is relieved to see that Emmett is still hard as he follows. 

Perfect. 

\---

There are quite a few surprises on the evening that Justin Taylor, the self-defined top of Boytoy, takes Emmett Honeycutt out to dinner at Asiago, one of the classiest and most expensive Italian restaurants in Pittsburgh. 

The first surprise of the evening occurs when Justin is preparing. Outfitted in a white button-down shirt, sleek khaki pants, a long black jacket and a sky blue tie, he feels like a million bucks. With his hair slicked back, he feels… well, uncomfortable, to say the least. This torture was brought on by Justin's act of childish uncertainty to his mother, a guise put on in order to convince her that this was a date with Daphne – their very first date, in fact – and he was unbelievably nervous. She agreed to take the reins, beginning with handing Justin four hundred dollars for the evening and handling his wardrobe. 

Hence the tie, as well as the khakis. He'd be just as comfortable in jeans, but according to his mother, "girls like a boy who looks like he gets dressed with the lights on."

Well, Justin doesn't know much about girls, but the colors in Emmett's general wardrobe make him suspect that he probably wouldn't care one way or another as long as he has something rainbow on. 

Which he does. It'll just take Emmett a while to get to it. 

Anyway, the first surprise of the evening is his mother's third and final gift to Justin: a single condom, slipped into the pocket of his khakis. With that, she pats him on the back and ushers him out the front door, wishing him luck and reminding him that she'll be there to listen to the details when he returns. 

Surprise number two: although Justin's mother only gave him one condom, there's another one in his other pocket. Lucky, really, that she didn't slip it into that pocket, or she might have gotten a bit upset.

The third surprise is that when Justin gets to Emmett's house, he's already waiting outside. Alone, thank the lord. Justin's greatest fear is parental figures with cameras, because then the evidence of his romantic side could be preserved for all eternity. 

Ew.

"Hey," says Emmett, slipping inside the car. Justin leans over and kisses his cheek – not because it's at all his custom to do so, but because of a piece of advice courtesy of his mother. "Make her feel at home," she said, and Justin intends to do just that – substituting _her_ for _him_ , of course. 

The fourth surprise is that under the lights of the restaurant, Justin gets his first good look at Emmett's attire. It isn't bad – not nearly as tacky as his usual clothing, anyway. He has a short-sleeved shirt on, pale green to match his eyes, with three buttons at the very top and a collar to make it pass for almost formal. The pants are nothing to write home about, but they're fine – tight-fitting black ones that are a little too long, so they're cuffed at the ankles. 

He's wearing sneakers, of course. Neon orange ones. Then again, he didn't know where they would be going for this little extravaganza. Nothing told him it would be formal. 

"Brian helped me pick it out," Emmett says shyly, obviously aware that Justin is looking up and down. 

Well, well, well. Surprise number five. 

The sixth surprise is that when Justin offers Emmett a bite of his entrée, Emmett declines on grounds of his vegetarianism. More than a little impressed, Justin asks him about it, and Emmett explains that his pet rabbit, Hunter, would be considered food in many countries, and if he wouldn't eat _him_ , he shouldn't eat any other living thing.

Impressive. 

It is the seventh surprise that is the _most_ shocking to Justin and Emmett. 

"Brian told me a little bit about you," Emmett says over a glass of wine. "He said… well, never mind. He told me some stuff, that's all. He told me what being on a date with you would be like, but it's not really like that. I mean – well – you're a lot nicer than I thought," he says shyly. 

It's not really a surprise that Brian was bad-mouthing him, because Justin knows that they've been doing it to each other for years. 

The surprise comes in the form of Emmett actually _telling_ him that. 

Justin makes plans to kill his archenemy as soon as possible, but it'll have to wait until he's done staring into those gorgeous green eyes.

\---

Daphne and Justin corner Brian by the lockers the following day in the hallway. 

"You cheated," Daphne accuses. 

Brian puts on a very unconvincing display of shock. "Cheated? _Moi_? Absolutely not. What _ever_ gave you the impression that I did?" 

Justin rolls his eyes. "Don't give me that shit, Kinney. You told Emmett all sorts of bullshit about me." 

"Then un-tell him," Brian says lightly, leaning against the wall and bending one knee upwards to touch his foot to the wall.

Daphne looks scandalized. "But that's not fair!" she exclaims.

Both Justin and Brian realize her mistake before she does, but before she has a chance to take it back, Brian just shakes his head. "Like I told your boyfriend – all's fair in love and war." 

"Can't we make rules?" Justin pleads. 

"Nope," says Brian cheerfully. "However," he continues, "I _would_ like to up the stakes." 

Justin's eyebrows shoot up. "I'm listening." 

"You damn well better be," Brian replies. "Now, then. I'd like to up the stakes from a single night of sex to a week of enslavement."

Justin looks bewildered. " _What_?" 

"The loser," Brian enunciates, "in this case, you, would be the winner's sex slave for a week."

Suddenly hit with the mental image of Brian on his knees in front of him, Justin nods swiftly. "Yes. Definitely, yes. Absolutely."

Daphne looks on in horror. 

Brian smirks. "Glad that's settled," he says. With that, he swings his backpack over his shoulder and heads to trigonometry.

It is only once Brian disappears into Room 513 that Daphne leans closer to her best friend and murmurs, "He's _insanely_ hot."

"Fuck, yeah," Justin replies.

\---

Days pass.

Emmett and Justin go on two more dates, neither quite as full as surprises as the first. Each time, Justin is paid handsomely by his mother and father, both of whom are quite happy to delude themselves that Justin is taking Daphne out. Also each time, Emmett is taken to some sort of expensive restaurant, which on takes two and three is followed by some sort of _other_ romantic gesture – on the second date, a walk by the lake; on the third, watching stars from Emmett's bedroom window. 

As for Brian's progress with the boy, it is made entirely through time spent together in the _friends_ context. They drink together, smoke together, and read bad erotica together. They play their little "bad boys" game with one another, seeing as Brian doesn't really have any friends – as in, _not_ fangirls or fanboys – with whom to do this, and Emmett doesn't really have any friends at all. Just his luck to have "befriended" the two archenemies of St. James' Prep. 

After two weeks of the bet, Emmett is sitting with Brian at lunch one day. This isn't entirely a rare occurrence – it just so happens that Emmett alternates daily between sitting with Justin and his fan squad and Brian and _his_ fan squad. Brian days tend to be more interesting, whereas Justin days tend to involve a lot more footsie. 

On this particular day, they are dining in the cafeteria, where cafeteria worker Debbie Novotny has stationed herself right near Brian's table in hopes of catching him doing something inappropriate. (She loathes Brian and hopes to be the one to, someday, prompt his expulsion.)

"So why do you and Justin hate each other, anyway?" Emmett asks casually between forkfuls of his diseased-looking lasagna. 

Brian takes a sip of his water before answering. "Long story" are the first words out of his mouth upon setting his Evian back down, but then he elaborates, "Sixth grade. We outed each other. He got beat up, I got dumped by my beard."

Emmett laughs. "Your beard, hmm? Anyone I know?" 

"Yes, in fact," Brian replies cheerfully. "Over there." He points to the cheerleaders' table. "Lindsay Peterson. Now she's going out with the bitchy star of the debate team – Melanie Marcus. At the time of my outing, she didn't realize that I was her beard as well." 

Emmett succumbs to a gigglefit, and Brian waits patiently for the giggles to subside. Once Emmett has clamped a hand over his mouth, Brian continues, "Also, I dislike him because he's a pretentious little asshole whose drawings aren't worth shit."

"I've seen Justin's art," Emmett interrupts. "I think it's nice." 

"Well," says Brian huffily, "I'm his archenemy. I'm supposed to think anything he could possibly produce, art included, is the spawn of Satan." 

Emmett giggles.

\---

One day, Emmett is sweeping the main floor of his house when he hears the doorbell ring. Just as he gets to the door, an envelope is slipped through the mail flap, and he can hear footsteps as somebody races away. By the time he has bent down to retrieve the letter, the car has sped away with a screech. 

_Emmett:_

_You don't know who I am._

_Brian Kinney and Justin Taylor have a bet set up about you. First one to fuck you gets to fuck the other one._

_A Concerned Citizen for the Truth_

His eyes wide, Emmett calmly folds the letter up, places it in his pocket, and walks upstairs. He has some thinking to do. 

\---

_Ring… ring… ring…_

"Kinney." 

Emmett laughs and twirls the telephone wire around his finger. "Brian," he says. 

Immediately dropping the act, Brian reverts to his normal voice. "Hey," he says. "What's going on?" 

Emmett drops his voice to a husky whisper. "You know how I said I was waiting for true love before I had sex?" 

Brian's jaw drops. 

He can't honestly remember if Emmett ever said that or not. All he can think about is the straining cock in his pants, suddenly more attentive than ever. 

"Yeah," he says almost uncertainly. 

"I think I've found it," Emmett murmurs. "Can you be over here in five minutes?" 

Brian grabs his car keys from his desk and amends, "Two." 

He hangs up and runs for the door. 

\---

_Ring… ring…ring… ring… ring…_

Justin springs up from the dinner table in the middle of the first ring, dashes up to his bedroom, and leaps for the phone. "Hello?" he asks, breathing hard. 

"Hey, Justin." 

Emmett!

"Hi," Justin says, suddenly feeling a strong urge to giggle. 

Emmett sighs. "Justin… you know how I said I wanted to wait for true love?" 

His answer is a little too quick for comfort. "Yes," Justin says promptly. 

"I think… I found it. How soon can you be here?" 

The keys are always in the car when it's in the garage. 

"A minute," Justin says, and slams the phone down. 

When Justin gets to the kitchen, he blurts out, "Friend's having an emergency. I really have to go. Sorry, guys." 

His parents and sister watch him as he slips outside. 

\---

Brian's Jeep screeches into Emmett's driveway in about half a second, and he tries to maintain his composure as he makes the walk from the car door to the front door. He doesn't even bother to ring the doorbell, knowing that Emmett is surely standing just inside. It's surprising, though – Emmett _doesn't_ get the door. Not immediately, anyway. Brian is just beginning to contemplate knocking before he hears another car pull into the driveway. 

That's Craig Taylor's car. 

"Taylor?" Brian snaps as Justin makes his way to the front door. "What are _you_ doing here?" 

"None of your business, Kinney," Justin retorts. "Why don't you come back later when he wants you here?" 

"For your information," snips Brian, "he called me and invited me over here."

Justin freezes. "You're a liar" is his immediate response.

"I have nothing to prove to you," Brian informs him, and presses the doorbell. Hard. 

The door is opened almost immediately by a very sweaty, very naked Emmett Honeycutt, holding a candle on a tray in one hand and several condoms pinched together between a few fingers of the other hand. 

Brian steps inside. Slowly. 

Justin follows. 

"What's going on?" Justin asks. 

Emmett's pale green eyes flash. "I found out about your little bet," he says in a smooth, calm voice. 

Brian and Justin exchange glances. _Shit_. 

"Now, I may be the ultimate in nonconformity on most subjects, but I happen to agree with the rest of the school on one topic, and one topic only: the two of you would look hot together." 

Inwardly, both Brian and Justin agree. Outwardly, they both plaster on fake expressions of disgust. 

"Right," Emmett murmurs, seeing right through them. "Well. Which of you would like to win the bet?" 

It hits Brian first. 

"So whoever gives more incentive for you to sleep with them," he says slowly, "is the one you'll sleep with, and the one who'll win the bet." 

Emmett giggles. "Right and wrong, Brian, as usual. Good try, though." In all his naked glory, he reaches up and ruffles Brian's hair. "The two of you are going to put on a little show for me. I'll sit on my bed, and each of you will – entertain me, so to speak. You each have the chance to get me off – _once_. No fucking. Blowjobs and handjobs are fine, dancing is fine. But no fucking. Then, I'll tell you which one wins. And I'll watch the… let's call it awards ceremony." 

Both Brian and Justin look like their eyes are about to pop out of their heads. 

"Okay," Justin says at last. "Fine. You just mean you're going to watch us fuck _once_ , right?" 

Unaware that the letter he received was behind the times, Emmett nods. "Yep. That's it." 

Brian looks at Justin, and Justin at Brian. They communicate silently as only best friends, lovers, and archenemies can do, wordlessly coming to an agreement. "Fine," they say in unison, and follow Emmett upstairs to his bedroom. 

\---

"Now, then," says Emmett, imitating a favored catchphrase of Brian's. "Who would like to go first?" 

Nervously, Justin steps forward. "Uh – I will," he says. 

"Great!" Emmett says cheerfully, and stretches out on his bed. "On the floor, Brian," he says, nudging the seated boy with his foot. Brian complies begrudgingly, sitting with his back to the closet door, facing Emmett from the opposite side of the room.

Justin takes one look at Brian on the floor and laughs. "Yeah, Kinney," he says with a smirk. "Learn your place before I teach it to you." 

"Now, now," Emmett interrupts. "Play nice, children." 

Brian and Justin take the hint. 

"Justin," says Emmett, fluffing the pillow behind his head. "You may begin." 

He starts off slowly, moving from foot to foot with the slow nervousness of an unpopular twelve-year-old at a sweet sixteen. It's not dancing – it's not anything, really – but he's just trying to get his head together. 

Then it somehow occurs to him that it would probably be a lot hotter with his shirt off, so he takes care of that little problem by pulling it over his head and tossing it on the ground. He meets Emmett's eyes for a second, confirming that that's okay, and then moves on, trailing his dexterous fingers up and down his chest and stomach, then trailing them over his sides. He turns around to show the tight fit of his ass in the jeans.

He meets Brian's eyes. The boy is transfixed. _Well, good_ , he thinks to himself vengefully, and slips his thumbs into the waistband of his jeans. 

For a minute or two, he just moves his fingers and hands around inside his jeans, tracing the outline of his cock with a single finger, then sliding his hands around his sides and over his ass. 

Then slowly, he pops the button on his jeans. Both Brian and Emmett find that their breath catches in their throats, especially as Justin unzips and reveals that – surprise, surprise! – he's not wearing any underwear. 

_Well, well, well_ , Brian thinks to himself. _How very unlike the St. James' Golden Boy._

It doesn't take long for Justin to slide his pants off, stepping out of each leg one at a time. He stands there, completely naked, and suddenly does the only thing he can think of to do. 

He takes a few steps closer to the bed, steps around to the side, and gets as close to Emmett as possible. Predictably, Emmett reaches out and tries to stroke Justin's cock, but Justin only smirks and steps away. He slides his hands down his sides and cups his ass, turning to show it to Emmett. He even allows Emmett to reach out and slap it, leaving a soft pink handprint that becomes visible to Brian as Justin turns back around. 

Now he starts to run his fingers through his hair – starting with the hair on top of his head, and then, as if struck by a sudden idea, abruptly sliding his fingers down his chest again and into his crotch, where he curls his pubic hair around his fingers. Emmett whimpers, reaching out to touch, and Justin lets him this time, lets him hold his cock for a moment before spinning away. 

That spin, the quick flash of Justin's entire body whirling around for him, is what drives Emmett over the edge. Abruptly, he comes, shooting partially into his hand, but mostly all over his pastel yellow sheets. 

Justin stares. 

Brian looks undeniably nervous. 

\---

"Your turn, Kinney," Justin says, smirking as he pulls his pants on. Once they're on, he grabs his shirt and shoves it in his lap, obviously to hide the soon-to-be-erection from the performance he is about to witness, then leans against the wall before sliding down it and sitting on the ground against the closet door. 

Brian gets up abruptly, as though scalded by touching Justin for even a moment. Justin just rolls his eyes and scoffs. 

"Ready, Brian?" Emmett asks sweetly, yet wickedly. 

Brian gulps. 

"Cue the pulse to begin," Justin murmurs. 

On cue, Brian grabs the shoulder straps of his wifebeater, pulling it crossways over his head. He tosses it on the ground near Justin, who pushes it away with his foot without even looking down. Then he sets to work on his pants, pulling them off without even unbuttoning or unzipping – weight loss is a wonderful thing. 

For a moment, Emmett and Justin think he's going to dance. But then he just swings onto Emmett's bed, one leg tucked beneath his body, the other across the edge of the bed, dangling just over the end. 

He sets to work on Emmett's cock, bending his head down to first nuzzle it with his nose. Emmett giggles, obviously enjoying the feeling, but it is short-lived; Brian quickly replaces his nose with his tongue, lapping away. It is only a few moments before he removes that as well and finally gives in to the very nature of the intended gesture, taking Emmett's cock in his mouth and sucking. 

Now, Emmett may be a virgin in the ways of dick and ass, but he is no stranger to blowjobs. He's had a fair few over the course of his seventeen years, and dished out quite a few as well. But – nothing like _this_. 

Something about Brian's warm, warm lips on his cock, even though he _just_ had an orgasm, makes Emmett feel immediately like coming once again. Brian clearly gives blowjobs of porn star quality – he hums softly around the shaft, increasing and decreasing pressure according to the pressure of Emmett's hand in his hair. When Emmett tightens his grip more tightly than he has done at any previous point, Brian knows he's coming, and sucks just a bit harder for the moment before Emmett comes, hard and fast, down Brian's throat. 

Of course he swallows. What kind of cheap slut do you take him for?

Emmett lies back, panting, as Brian releases him, cleans him up gently with a tissue, and goes to stand against the closet door next to Justin. "I need a few minutes to make my decision," he breathes, and the other boys nod. Brian crosses the room to retrieve his pants and tank top, while Justin plays idly with a dildo on the floor. 

No less than ten minutes later, Emmett straightens up – no pun intended – and gets to his feet. Justin quickly grabs a pair of pants from Emmett's closet and hands it to him. As Emmett pulls the pants on, Brian and Justin scramble across the room to grab a shirt from his dresser. Justin gets it, but Brian sticks out his foot for the second time in a month and causes Justin to trip. Smoothly, he proffers the article of clothing to Emmett. 

"Thanks," Emmett says, laughing. 

Once he is fully dressed, Emmett extinguishes the candle on his dresser and flicks on the light switch. It's suddenly blindingly _bright_ , no longer anything even vaguely sexual or even romantic. It's just… bright. 

"Well?" Justin asks, and Brian is very glad it wasn't he who asked that, because it could be used against him. Hassling the judge, you know. 

Emmett leans against the wall. "Look, boys. You were both fantastic. Justin, I'm sure you could go for a go-go boy position at Babylon. Or even in New York. You're _amazing_. As for you, Brian – well, I don't even want to know where you learned to suck like that – " 

– "Coach Schmidt," Brian cuts in –

" – and you were unbelievable. You both have amazing bodies, by the way. Justin, that ass – _whoo_. And Brian? That _cock_!" He grins abashedly. "But anyway. To the winner." 

Both boys hold their breaths. 

"After careful evaluation of the facts, placing a bet on the overall outcome on the bet – yes, don't think I didn't speak to Sap this afternoon about placing a bet on who I thought would win – and reviewing your various… _skills_ … I'll have to declare the winner to be…"

"Just tell us already," Brian interrupts.

Emmett laughs. "Fine. It's you." 

\---

"Fuck!" Justin hisses. 

Brian beams. "Oh, this'll be _fun_ ," he drawls, stretching out the word. "Thanks so much, Emmett," he says, grinning wickedly, and fumbles around with his pocket before retrieving his wallet. "You have a _huge_ cock, by the way," he informs him, and then grabs a ten-dollar bill from the folds of his wallet.

"You _paid_ him to pick you?" Justin demands. 

Brian snorts. "Nah. Just thought he deserves it." 

Emmett bats Brian's hand away. "No, no," he says. "The prize I'm already entitled to is enough for me, but thank you." 

Brian grins. "Well, you asked. Pants off, slaveboy," he says, grinning at Justin. 

Justin does not grin back. 

As Brian dumps his clothing on the floor for the second time, Justin scrambles for time by slowly taking off his clothing, folding it, and placing it neatly atop the hamper.

Emmett giggles. "Oh, Justin," he sighs. "Just get it over with. You know he's unbelievably hot and you want him in your ass something fierce."

Justin's eyes bulge. Brian just laughs. "Why, Justin," he says, pretending to be shocked. "I never knew!" 

"Oh, shut up, asshole," Justin mutters. 

"Now, now," Brian says. "That's not the way to talk to your owner for the week." 

Justin grumbles and ignores him. 

\---

The naked boys on Emmett's bed make for quite the interesting picture, but Emmett spares them the fear of blackmail by not taking photographs. 

Of course, it's not like he gets a chance. Just as Brian is dutifully slipping on the condom, harder than he has ever been in his life, the sound of keys is audible in the downstairs lock. 

_Emmett's parents!_

Brian freezes. Justin rolls over, pushing Brian onto his back. "Get dressed, you idiot," he snarls, tiptoeing off the bed and pulling his pants on. Emmett stands, frozen, by the door. It just takes a nudge from Brian to get him moving.

While Brian and Justin get dressed, Emmett races through the room, storing dildos and condoms and condom wrappers wherever he can – under things, in drawers, in the trashcan, and buried inside a box that appears to store pornography. Once his pants are on and he and Justin have made a lazy attempt at making the bed, Brian watches Emmett continue to bustle around. "Wow, Emmett," he drawls. "That's hardcore."

Emmett growls, "You don't understand. My parents would _kill_ me if they thought I was sexually active. At all."

"Do your parents… exist?" Justin asks politely, looking around the room at the many traces of Emmett's sexuality. 

"Yes, in fact," Emmett replies with a laugh. "Now, then. Go home," he suggests, opening the window to reveal a long string of socks tied together to serve as a rope to get someone from the window to the ground below.

"Not home," Brian interrupts. "You're coming with me, slaveboy. You and I have to begin our project for the week."

With a groan, Justin climbs down the sock-rope to join Brian at the bottom. "Okay," he grumbles. "I'll follow you in my car."

Emmett mourns his lost chance to watch the boys fuck. Meanwhile, Brian begins to realize that something is going wrong. 

\---

Thoughts race through Brian and Justin's heads as they drive over to Brian's house. 

_God, he's hot._

_He's fucking gorgeous._

_You think he'll be… nice about it? I can take a lot, but he hates me._

_Little fucker probably thinks I'll be gentle. Well, bullshit. That ass was meant to be fucked rough._

_I've bottomed before, but…_

_I've topped almost the entire gay Pittsburgh – the hot ones, anyway – but somehow…_

_Somehow…_

_This doesn't feel the same._

_I'm more nervous than I've ever been in my life._

\---

Justin pulls up behind Brian in the driveway, and they exit their respective cars. For a moment, they just stand there, looking at each other, until finally Brian grins evilly and Justin knows a command is coming. 

"Kneel," says Brian.

Justin does, gritting his teeth and clenching his fists as he sinks to his knees. 

"Good boy," Brian murmurs. "Now, then. We're at my house because I didn't want to let dearest Emmett know this, in case he plans to spy, but you and I, Sunshine, are headed elsewhere. To a hotel, in fact."

It isn't exactly a secret that Brian's family is religious white trash, so Justin asks, "How… are you funding it?" 

Brian laughs. "I'm not. You're my little toy, remember? Your money is my money. I'll pay you back eventually."

And Justin believes him, because Brian doesn't break his promises.

So they get back in their cars, and Justin follows Brian to a cheap-looking motel – obviously selected to reduce the expense and the money that Brian will eventually owe his archenemy. 

It practically kills Justin to get the idea around his head – _sleeping on crappy sheets_ – but he is quick to get over it, and he follows Brian inside, making sure to trail behind him so as to prevent more slave/master remarks.

Justin steps forward to offer payment on the nifty little "emergencies only" credit card he keeps in his wallet behind his driver's license, Student I.D., and all that extra unnecessary cash he keeps around. The man at the counter looks a little miffed that these two teenage kids are so financially equipped, but when Justin leaves a twenty-dollar tip on the counter, he stops scowling immediately. 

The boys get to their room.

Brian's gaze turns to Justin after surveying the room, and after a moment's pause, he commands, "Get undressed."

Justin does.

\---

Standing there naked, Justin suddenly feels more than exposed – he feels violated. Brian walks across the room to draw the curtains at the window, then returns to Justin and surveys his naked body. "Very nice," he says, running a hand down Justin's back to cup his ass. Justin flinches away, but Brian slaps his ass. "Don't move unless I say," he whispers. 

Justin just barely keeps himself from nodding.

"Now," says Brian, beginning to walk up and down the room. "Here's what's going to happen, Taylor. When I say so, you're going to get on the bed and get yourself ready. _I_ am going to inspect this room. Then, when I think it's time, I'm going to get on the bed and fuck your brains out." 

Justin quivers just the tiniest bit. 

"Go."

\---

After exploring the room, and looking extremely hot while doing so, Brian finally turns to face the bed. There's Justin, bent on his knees and elbows, his hole obviously quite stretched (probably for fear that Brian will be uncaring and far too rough with him). 

"Ready?" Brian murmurs, climbing onto the bed, stripping quickly, and slipping on a condom. Justin whimpers, and Brian squirts a minimal amount of lube onto his hand, which he then spreads over himself. Looking a little less scared, Justin relaxes, and Brian orders, "On your back. I want to see your face."

Very nervously, Justin obeys, and Brian pulls Justin's legs up over his shoulders. "Ever bottomed before?" he whispers. 

Justin shakes his head. It's not true, but better to play the pity card.

"Good," Brian murmurs, and finally pushes in. Justin lets a little whimper escape his lips, but once Brian is thrusting in and out, he calms down, even going so far as to push himself forward to get the maximum pleasure. "So whoever you're ever with," continues Brian in that unforgettable, undeniably sexy whisper of his, "I'll always be there."

They come within ten seconds of each other, then roll onto their backs and stare at the ceiling. 

It is done in silence, with only a shared cigarette passed back and forth to pass the time. 

\---

For whatever reason, as they are getting dressed, Brian and Justin have something of a conversation. "So," says Brian, "slaveboy." It's in a more playful tone than it ever was before. "Are you aware that you're an amazing fuck?'

Justin figures it's time to illuminate the ignorant one. "Yes," he replies. "I've been told that from the dozens of other guys who've topped me, and the ones I've topped as well."

Brian laughs. "I knew with an ass like yours, you couldn't be a top," he mutters. "Well, you're pretty fucking good. I know I'll be doing you again a few times over the course of the week." 

Justin doesn't know quite what to say to that, so he busies himself with putting his pants on, leaving conversation, like the bedsheets, in an abandoned heap.

\---

At four-thirty in the morning, Justin's phone rings. 

"Hello?" he asks sleepily. 

It's Brian. "Get your ass over here," he murmurs. 

Too tired to argue, Justin just hangs up the phone and looks around the room for his keys.

\---

When he gets to Brian's, Justin pulls up two houses away so as not to wake up Brian's parents. Then, standing in front of Brian's house, he carefully walks up to the front door and knocks as lightly as possible. 

Less than a second later, Brian pulls the door open, steps outside, and closes it. Justin looks on in confusion, but Brian just sighs and says, "You _really_ think I'd fuck you with my parents in the house? Come on." He ushers Justin over to his car, where they quickly and quietly get down to business. 

When they're done, Brian looks at his watch. "It's nearly six," he murmurs. "I wake up at six for school anyway. Want to go get some coffee? No, fuck that, you have to do what I say. We're going to go get coffee."

Justin shrugs. He's aware that he's probably paying, but he doesn't mind. 

Brian's company is becoming less and less painful.

\---

Over coffee, they talk. 

"I like the sound you make when you come," Brian announces between sips of his black coffee. "It's hot. Makes me want to start all over again."

Justin shrugs. "I try." He takes a sip of his over sweetened concoction before remarking, "I like your speed. Not too fast, but fast enough. It's pretty fucking good."

Grinning, Brian says, "I try."

They have a few more sips before Justin scoots his chair in closer to the table and inquires, "Why do we hate each other?" 

"We outed – "

Justin shakes his head. "Not like that. I mean why'd we do that? Everyone says the way we act is just covering for sexual tension."

"Mm," says Brian, taking a sip from his coffee to distract Justin from his non-answer. "Well. I guess they do say that, don't they?" 

Justin persists, "We _do_ have sexual tension, though. And I don't really _hate_ you. I mean, I loathe your attitude and policy on sex and the way you're really just a gay stereotype, and I hate that you look so much better in the uniform than I do, and you're the best lay I've ever had so I guess I hate that about you too. But I wouldn't, like, kill you. Because you can't really hate your archenemy, since you'd have nothing to do without them."

"And no one to do," Brian agrees. 

"Exactly."

A minute or two later, Justin twirls a strand of long hair around his finger and asks casually, "Do you hate me?" 

Brian thinks about it.

He sips his coffee.

Thinks about it some more.

"No," he says.

\---

After a quickie behind the school that afternoon, Brian and Justin share a cigarette and talk a bit about the events leading up to this very moment.

"So you went for the wine and dine approach," Brian muses, the back of his neck scraping against the brick wall of the school building. "Whereas I chose the upfront one. 'This is what I want, and you're going to give it to me.' It was hard, though." 

Justin nods. "It was. It's never been that hard to seduce someone before."

"'Cause I actually _liked_ him. He's a good guy, even if he does have stupid virgin ideals." 

"Yeah," echoes Justin. "I'm definitely still going to be his friend, even though all my friends'll hate him since he apparently bet on you to win."

Brian smirks. "Why do you think he picked me?" 

"'Cause you were honest, maybe," Justin suggests. "Not playing around with the whole dating game like I was."

Brian nods, but then adds, "Also, he probably thought it would be hotter if I topped."

"True," Justin admits. "I may be incredibly hot, but a top I am not, especially in terms of looks." 

"All nelly bottoms have to admit it sometime," Brian says, mock-comforting him. 

\---

On day four of Justin's "enslavement" – which is really more like bliss, when you think about it, because both he and Brian get to have amazing sex without having to worry about the whole one-trick-only rule – something happens. A breakthrough, of sorts. 

"Mind if I take a ride in the front seat?" Justin asks coolly. He's playing around – he doesn't really think Brian would let him top, but it couldn't hurt to ask. 

Well, it's Brian, so he guesses it could. But it's almost worth the risk. 

"You mean you want to top, slaveboy?" Brian asks. It's become more of an endearment than anything else – Justin isn't _really_ treated as a slave, more of a very convenient fuck-buddy. Do normal people dislike their fuck-buddies?

But then again, they've established that they don't dislike each other.

Justin shrugs. "It'd be nice," he says.

"Mm," Brian hums. "I see."

They sit in silence for a moment. 

Then – 

"Well," says Brian seductively, "if you want to top, you'll have to earn it. Start with a blowjob, then a rim job, and if I deem you satisfactory, then you can fuck me." 

And so he does, and so he does.

And so he does.

\---

"That was fucking good." 

Brian rolls onto his side, props himself on an elbow, and looks at Justin, who follows suit and echoes the gesture. "How many days are left?" Brian asks. Justin is sure he already knows the answer, but is simply pretending to be ignorant.

"Three," he answers.

Brian nods. "Fine. Well, here's how it's going to work. Today, I'm not going to fuck you."

Justin is automatically suspicious. "You're not?"

"Nope," says Brian cheerfully. "I'm going to spank you."

Sky blue eyes widen. "What?"

"Oh, come on, Sunshine. I've seen you at Meathook. Maybe it's not your favorite scene, but you're my little slave for the week, so you're going to do what I want."

"Brian – "

"Look, if it gets really bad, just say 'Honeycutt.' Got it?"

Justin nods, but still looks unsure. "And you'll stop? If I say that?"

"Yeah. You have my word." An unexpected look of earnest honesty is in Brian's deep hazel eyes, and Justin believes him. 

He lets himself be pulled over Brian's lap, his pants pulled off and abandoned on the floor of the car. (They are currently parked in a church parking lot, for maximum irony.) Brian caresses his bare ass for a moment, but just as he starts to feel warm and tingly and comfortable, Brian's hand disappears.

_Crack!_

The first slap comes down harshly against his pale skin, leaving a bright pink handprint. Justin almost pulls away, but Brian has clearly thought ahead, and he holds one hand on the small of Justin's back, forcing him to stay in place. 

It doesn't hurt that bad, and it barely even occurs to Justin that he might want to say the word. He takes it, every single slap, his ass burning but not daring to try to wrestle away. Trying to get away without saying the word would doubtlessly result in Brian's agitation, and for that, he would only hit him harder. 

When finally the last smack falls across Justin's ass, he breathes a sigh of relief. It's not that the pain was that unbearable, but rather that he knows a good sound fucking is coming up, and he anticipates it with every fiber of his being.

Every. Single. One. 

Sure enough, he hears the tear of the condom wrapper between Brian's teeth and spots it falling to the ground out of the corner of his eye. The condom is on before he knows it, and within seconds, Brian is pushing into him.

Life is good, even with the searing sting of the smacks to add a little flavor to it. 

\---

In school the next day, Justin walks with soreness evident in his every step. Seeing that, and undoubtedly knowing the source of his pain, Brian grabs him between classes, presses him up against the wall of the showers in the locker room, and fucks him. By the time the late bell rings, they're both in their classes, and Justin is even more sore than before. 

It's a good kind of sore, though.

\---

The last day of Justin's enslavement begins with at four in the morning, when Brian calls him and informs him that they'll be skipping school together to get the maximum pleasure out of these last twenty-four hours. Justin has no complaints. 

As usual, they meet at Brian's house, and Brian insists that Justin leave his car there for the day, as the plans require Justin to be with Brian at all times, even as he drives. Sure enough, as Justin sits in the passenger seat while Brian drives to the hotel, Brian taps him on the knee and commands, "Suck."

Justin does, dropping to his knees on the floor of the car and leaning over to unbutton and unzip Brian's pants. Done with the formalities, he takes Brian's cock into his mouth. 

The clock blares that it is four-twenty-six.

Nineteen hours and forty-four minutes left.

Neither Brian nor Justin want it to end.

\---

Without their leaders there to keep them apart, the fangirls and fanboys of both Brian and Justin find themselves socializing at school. Particularly Daphne and Cynthia, the two most envied girls in school. (Everyone wants to be Fag Hag Numero Uno.)

So rather than attending period four, Brian and Justin's respective inner circles, plus Emmett, gather in the student lounge. It's locked during periods that aren't free periods, but Daphne's many hairpins take care of that, and they break in. The kids loosen their ties, open a few sodas and a box of cigarettes, unbutton the top few buttons on their shirts, and kick back on the hard floor, as the student council hasn't gotten around to paying for furniture yet.

The delinquents aren't mixed together very well – Brian's fangirls and fanboys are bunched together, as are Justin's. The only two people actually socializing are Daphne and Cynthia, as the latter pulls a deck of cards out of her backpack, takes off the hairtie binding them together, and begins dealing them out. "Blackjack," she announces. "Who's playing?" 

"Oooh, me," Emmett says quickly. His sentiments are rapidly echoed by the fangirls and fanboys of Brian – Michael, Lindsay, and Ben – and of Justin – Melanie, Ted, and Daphne. 

Cynthia leans forward to deal. Predictably, Melanie looks up her shirt.

When it comes time to place bets (using cigarettes in the absence of chips and money), a teacher peers in the lounge to see what the noise is. Upon discovering the smoky room filled with reckless teenagers, she just laughs and walks away.

\---

By two in the afternoon, Brian and Justin have fucked pretty much non-stop since ten hours prior. According to Justin, who has actually passed out once or twice since the morning, they have had twenty-three sexual experiences since waking up. 

Brian thinks it's mildly impressive, but he can do better. 

They get high together while trying to come up with some sort of sexual encounter they can have that won't be routine. Once they're stoned out of their minds, Brian starts talking.

"This arrangement is actually pretty convenient," he remarks at two-eighteen. "You know – you're a great fuck, and I don't have to go to all the trouble of going out and finding new ones who are just as good, 'cause I can fuck you as much as I want, no strings attatched."

Justin yawns. He gets sleepy when he's stoned, and he says, "I know what you mean. I like it too."

"Imagine what our fanboys would say if they found us fucking," Brian mumbles.

With a laugh, Justin informs him, "I think they've been expecting this for a while."

"True enough," concedes Brian. "But still. If we were to – hypothetically, of course – extend this arrangement, to be fuck-buddies for a longer time, they would go fucking ballistic."

Imagining it, Justin cackles. Upon regaining his composure, he agrees, "There wouldn't be any fun in them stalking us anymore. We'd just be normal fags instead of feuding ones. _Boring_. They might as well stalk Emmett."

"Or Coach Schmidt," Brian pipes up. "Big dick. Bad fuck."

Justin laughs. "I'll take your word for it. Let me guess. Short but thick?"

"Got it in one," Brian chuckles. 

For a moment, it hits both boys that there's something entirely different about this – this lying together business, passing a cigarette back and forth – as opposed to hanging out with their respective stalkers. It's almost friendly, their casual conversation, not at all like dishing out commands to fangirls or checking out fanboys.

"I don't like having stalkers," Brian says suddenly.

Justin looks at him inquisitively. 

"What if we went to school like this? Together? I mean – " he wrinkles his nose in disgust – "not as a couple. As fuck-buddies." _Friends_ is the word he means, but he's not going to be the one to say it. Not before Justin. It's a pride issue. "Maybe the fangirls, at the very least, would quit it. Fanboys. It could be you and me and some people we actually _like_ – like Emmett. We wouldn't have to be the gay gods worshipped by St. James' student and faculty." 

With a laugh, Justin mutters, "I think we'll always be worshipped, no matter who we do."

"Yeah…" 

A moment passes, and Justin thinks about it. "One condition," he says at last.

"Yes?" 

He snickers. "I get to top sometimes."

Brian chuckles. "Done."

\---

The next day.

Brian and Justin enter school together, which should be more of a giveaway than the fact that they were both absent the previous day. They go their separate ways – Brian to discuss matters with his stalkers, Justin with his. 

"Hey," Brian says upon reaching Cynthia and the usual crowd of giggling girls and boys. "Look. I'm fucking Justin Taylor and I don't want to hear another word about it."

On the other side of the school, Justin's confrontation goes much the same, if gentler. He leans against his locker, offering passersby a prime view of his ass, and explains, "Brian and I have… an arrangement. He and I sleep together. Regularly."

There is no exclamation of shock. 

Nobody storms away, destined to be a lonely fag hag or fag stag for the rest of his or her life.

Nobody gasps in horror. 

Cynthia and Daphne take it pretty well, actually. Daphne just laughs, while Cynthia thumbs through her wallet and extends a hand to Michael, who reluctantly hands her a fifty. 

"What…?" Brian asks, bewildered. "Why aren't you storming away?" 

Lindsay yawns. "You really think we didn't notice the tension, Kinney? Honestly. _I_ left him that note telling him about the bet. I put a lot of money on you ending up together – well, in your own way." With a clickety-clack of her heels on the tile, she walks off. Cynthia follows. Michael hangs behind for a moment, but Brian shoos him away and eventually, he heads off in the direction of the other stalkers. 

"Hey," Justin says, walking over to his new fuck-buddy. 

"Hey. How'd they take it?" 

Justin shrugs. "Well. It was scary."

"Mine too. They were… calm."

"Maybe they like having a gay couple to gossip about."

Passing by, Emmett giggles. "Got that right, sweetie. I'm happy for you!" 

Justin and Brian answer quickly, "We're not a couple."

Emmett raises an eyebrow, but just walks away.

"Anyway," says Brian huskily. "Now that they know, it should be all around the school in ten minutes or so. Want to pass the time?"

Justin presses his body against Brian's. "Definitely," he breathes.   



	4. Four: Gossip

www.libertygossip.net

Disclaimer: All names have been abbreviated to protect the innocent. Namely, me.

**hey bitches!**

Ever wondered what the lives of the gossip whores are really like? The ones whose faces and names make our hierarchal little community what it is? They wear all the right clothes – maybe not because they have a lot of money, but because they have taste and style and know how to pick 'em. You want every single one of us, and don't pretend you don't.

Welcome to Liberty Preparatory School. Here, we drink and play, sometimes eat and always sleep – usually with each other. We live in well-furnished dorms with all the right color schemes – because that's just how we _do it_. We have unlimited access to drugs and booze and fake IDs, because we're all here for the same reason. Our parents don't want us rebels at home, fucking with their business and taking time away from their valuable money-making. So our allowance comes on the first of every month, in thick envelopes on expensive stationary with no letters inside.

We're smart. How else could we have gotten into this expensive, elite private school we call our own? (Okay. Don’t answer that. Just trust me on this one. We're smart. Or at least, most of us are.) We're all gorgeous, by our parents' means or at the hands of Liberty Prep alum **BW** , a plastic surgeon in downtown Pittsburgh. We've all been to see him once or twice for something or other, and we get killer discounts with our student IDs. And we can dance and drink and smoke (be it pot or good, old-fashioned nicotine) like no one's watching.

Can you?

Doesn't matter. You couldn't live our life.

**sightings** ****

B ushering that sophomore from Atlanta out of his summer dorm at three in the morning on Tuesday. MN and D making out in Chipotle. T on the phone with BW's receptionist _again_ , this time for lypo. E and MN buying school clothes at Torso. MM checking her _OurChart_ on her Apple in Starbucks. L buying bras at that weird lesbian lingerie store on Sixth. What else is new?

And among the mass of incoming freshies… one _very_ sexy little blond who makes you want to tie that school tie of his to the bedpost and have some fun with his cute little ass. Does that make us pedophiles, or does it just mean we have good taste?

Now, then. I trust everyone remembers BS?

His initials suit him. He's full of more bullshit that anyone, _ever_.

Just to refresh your memory, BS was a sophomore with all of us. He was popular, and he was a playboy even in middle school, back when he thought he was bi. Then he came to Liberty, had his way with one hot junior boy (we're all still guessing who) on his first day of freshman year, and decided he only liked boys. From that day forward, B(K), the gay playboy since grade six, had himself a little rival.

BS transferred out at the end of sophomore year, but lo and behold, he's back and hotter than ever. His hair's been bleached – the way we see it, there are three possibilities. Either he used cheap dye once when he was drunk, he got it professionally done by resident hair expert E, or it was bleached naturally by the California sun where he spent junior year. Whatever it is, he's the hottest guy at school right now.

And it's not going to make B(K) very happy, let me tell you. Not lastly because it means I have to write both his initials now.

I'll be watching.

**  
Welcome to the Liberty Preparatory School Class of 2007-2008.**

**Cue the pulse to begin.** ****

Until next time, bitches –

Liberty Gossip Queen

(Don't forget to link to me in all your myspaces, bitches. The freshies still haven't heard of me!) 

**spunk**  
_"my summer was fucking hot."_

"Oh my god, you won't _believe_ what I did this summer."

"Wait your turn, sophomore, I was here first."

"Bitch. I bet my summer was more interesting than yours."

"Bet it wasn't."

"Bet it was."

"Bet it wasn't."

"Fuck off, kiddies. I need to speak to Mikey."

They scatter.

"Brian! How was your summer?"

" _Fucking_ fabulous, thank you very much."

"Cool."

"What'd you do?"

"Ma and Uncle Vic dragged me to see boring old movies playing at this lame theater that only plays classics. After the tenth _Breakfast at Tiffany's_ … it was _enough_ , you know?"

  
"Eh. I had my fair share of fun with – what is it LGQ calls them? American Masturbation Classics. There's one with this football player and this campy little queen… _damn_ , that's all I have to say." 

"Vic brought some porn over, but – "

"You were too scared to watch, I know. Don't worry. I'll rent Dirty Dancing this weekend and we can jerk off."

"I'd love to, but…"

"But?"

"I got a new roomie."

"A _new roomie_? But they never switch unless you – "

" – file a request, I know."

"And did you file a request, Michael?"

"Um…"

" _Michael_."

"Well… David did."

" _David_ did? So now they're rooming you with him?"

"Um. No, actually."

"…"

"Now they're rooming me with a lesbian. They think it's 'safer for all involved parties.'"

"What the fuck – _hell_ -o."

"What?"

"Look."

"Look where?"

"Over there. See that blond in the plaid shirt?"

"He's a _freshman_!"

"Yeah, and now he'll be a deflowered freshman. Later, Michael."  
  
An exasperated, dramatic sigh. "Later."

  
www.libertygossip.net   
Disclaimer: All names have been abbreviated to protect the innocent. Namely, me.

**breaking news!  
**  
Rumor has it that on September fourth, 2007, oversexed teenager **BK** made his first step towards adulthood. 

And a certain little freshie, **J** , did as well.

They way _I_ heard it went like this…

**sandstorm**  
_"you're hot."_

"I know." Brian sidles up to the blond, leaning casually against the wall with one knee drawn up behind him. "Brian Kinney."

The smaller boy eyes him uncertainly. "I'm Justin," he says in a clear, not at all uncertain voice. Most freshmen's voices crack or quiver, especially in the presence of Unnaturally Attractive Seniors. Not his.

"How old are you?"

Brian never asks questions of his tricks, especially personal ones.

Justin crosses his arms over his chest. "I don't answer _that_ kind of question," he retorts, and then screws up his face in a way that is obviously intended to be sexy. In a low, husky voice, he murmurs, "You'll have to find out for yourself." But his voice cracks, and he loses most of the intended impact.

"Do you have any plans for the next... oh... forty minutes?" Brian asks casually, already eyeing the blond's ass and liking what he sees.

"Not that I know of," Justin answers.

"Headed anyplace special?" Brian asks. Just to make sure.

Justin shrugs. "No."

Brian shakes out his leather jacket and pops the topmost button on his jeans. "I can change that."

www.libertygossip.net

Disclaimer: All names have been abbreviated to protect the innocent. Namely, me.

**sorry, all... bk beat us there**

Well, by now, you're all probably wondering if what you've heard is true. And sadly, it is. Adorable freshman **J** , a virgin when he stepped foot on campus, is now officially _not_. He's been "touched by an angel," so to speak. But don't worrk. The one good thing that can come of this, boys, is that **BK** is so good at what (and who) he does that **JT** is now probably searching madly for more. And in a generous attempt not to hog the merchandise, there is, of course, **BK** 's one-fuck policy that I'm sure we're all eternally grateful for. So, for any interested parties, **J** is located in Room 122 in the freshies' hall. Enjoy!

**sightings** ****

BK and J disappearing into the former's room, of course. E placing bets on what time they'll emerge, and T winning. D turning up his nose at such a "childish display." MN kicking rocks into the river, overlooked by a highly amused L. And, of course, MM and D getting stoned together and bitching about BK. And BS checking the rooming board to determine who he's sharing with. (What's the matter, BS, can't afford a single with all your bleach?)

  
I must be off, lovelies. Mustn't miss the second act.

  
You know. The part where J asks for a redo.

Until next time, bitches, and you know you love me --

Liberty Gossip Queen

**sleep**

_"when can I see you again?"_

Brian sighs dramatically. Why do they always have to ask this of him? It actually hurts, the tricks' idiocy. Don't they _know_ they're only tricks? "You can see me right now," he suggests, trying to avoid confrontation with this adorable kid.

Justin groans. "I mean later. _Do me_ again."

"Kid, you know, or you should know, that I'd love to do you again. Sadly, I have this policy."

With a frown, Justin asks, "What kind of policy?"

"Where I don't fuck anyone twice."

There, it's out in the open. The kid knows it wasn't because he was a bad fuck -- hell, can virgins even _be_ bad fucks? -- or because he didn't do something right. It's just the way Brian is.

"But I'm really _good_ ," Justin protests, pulling at Brian's sleeve as the older boy stands up and starts to get dressed.

Brian laughs. "Fuck. You are, aren't you? Well, yeah. You are. However," he says, and at this he pulls away and bends over to put his shoes on, "I don't love you, kid. This is about sex, not emotions. Which is good, because I'm rather lacking in the 'feelings' department."

"I can see that," Justin retorts. It almost stings. Almost.

"Look, Justin," he says, and it’s probably the first time he’s ever used a trick’s name, not just this trick’s name. "You’re a great fuck, and I’m sure you’re a great guy. Well, maybe. But it’s irrelevant, because I can’t do you again." He almost wants to apologize, and it’s then that he knows he hasn’t gotten enough sleep. 

www.libertygossip.net

Disclaimer: All names have been abbreviated to protect the innocent. Namely, me.

**everyone go comfort him! now!**

I’m sure all you kids were lurking in the hallway, watching and listening for signs of **J** ’s let-down, so by now you’ll know that he has officially been kicked to the curb. Poor baby. For all of you who are of the male species, I reccomend you run, don’t walk, to his room and inform him not to worry -- that there are plenty of other guys who would simply _love_ to fuck him. Or for you daredevils, go try the same thing on **BK**. I guarantee he’ll kill you.

**sightings** ****

Oh, come on, dearies. You all _know_ what the sightings are.

You know you love me --

Liberty Gossip Queen

**let's hear it for the boy**  
_"excuse me, I need to get in here."_

"Hey! Kid! This is the _Senior’s Lounge_! You’re not a senior!"

"No, I’m not, but I’m willing to bet that you’d let me in if I offered you something." Justin’s eyes twinkle wickedly.

The girl in the maroon vest isn’t particularly amused. "I’m a dyke. Sorry, kid."

Another bouncer standing beside her in an equally tacky burgundy vest smirks. "I’m not. Tell you what, kid." He takes a pen from his pocket and writes down the numbers 207 on Justin’s hand. "That’s my dorm. Seniors’ hall, obviously. Meet me there later tonight."

Hardly believing his luck, Justin nods. "I’ll do that."

The other bouncer glares at her partner as Justin slips inside.

"Excuse me -- sorry, just let me get through here," Justin mutters as he elbows his way through the crowd. The room is more a dance hall than a lounge, really -- someone is blasting music from overheard speakers, and a good portion of the room is dancing to it. But he’s not looking for dancing. Justin is looking for Brian.

And sure enough, he sees the taller boy -- his brown hair glossed with sweat, a white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up tossed on the chair nearest him. As for Brian’s outerwear, he is shirtless, wearing the school uniform pants, unbuttoned and hanging loosely on his hips. He is dancing to a song that Justin is vaguely familiar with -- it’s from _Footloose_ , isn’t it?

Two boys are dancing pretty close to Brian, both of them clearly captivated by the brunet’s unbelievable good looks. But Brian doesn’t look like he’s particularly interested in _them_ \-- rather, he seems to be eyeing another boy across the room, with curly blond hair and vivid green eyes.

Well. Justin has to hand it to Brian, he has good taste.

He knows Brian doesn’t pursue people, so Justin decides to take matters into his own hands. Quickly, he speedwalks across the room -- as best as he can surrounded by dancing teenagers, that is -- and finds said trick. "Hey," he says, and he knows that Brian is advancing fast, so he needs to work swiftly. "You want to come back to my room?"

The guy is obviously impressed. "Sure," he says, and is just in the process of swinging an arm around Justin’s shoulders when Brian reaches the two of them. Justin makes eye contact with the brunet before heading off with the trick in tow.

www.libertygossip.net

Disclaimer: All names have been abbreviated to protect the innocent. Namely, me.

**so now I’m an advice columnist.**

Dear LGQ,

What can you tell me about **BK**? Do I have any chance with him?

Anonymous

_*sigh* Everyone knows who you are, **J** , sweetheart._

But here we go. A brief summary of **BK**.

He’s seventeen. He’s been out since sixth grade, and discovered he was gay at the age of ten when his friend left some gay porn in his dorm. Then at fourteen, he blew the gym teacher, **Mr. P** , and then fucked him. He’s never bottomed before. From the age of fourteen on, he’s fucked every hot guy he sees, which is sort of a compliment, **J** , since it means he thinks you’re hot. He’s never been in a relationship, and has no intention of ever doing so.

His interests include drugs, drinking, dancing, smoking, anonymous sex and hanging out with his friends at the Seniors’ Lounge (where he dances and drinks), the Liberty Cafe (where he bitches at the employees and eats fat-free only), and in gym, where his friend **L** ’s father recently donated a ton of cash so they have the exercise machines that **BK** loves.

That’s pretty much **BK** in a nutshell.

And do you have a chance with him? I’m going to have to say no, honey. My best suggestion would be to stalk him.

**  
comments** ****

Username: BK   
Time: 10:47 PM

Message: **LGQ** , I’m going to fucking kill you, you know that?

Username: LGQ

Time: 10:51 PM

Message: I know, babe. But you’ll have to figure out who I am first.

You know you love me --

Liberty Gossip Queen

**(not so) straight to number one**  
_"hey. you asked me to come here after class?"_

"Yeah. Uh... sit down."

Justin sits, crossing one leg over the other rather effeminately. "Yes?" he asks delicately.

"You want me to fuck you again. I... happen to think you're hot."

Silently, Justin rejoices. _Score!_

"As a result, and in the interest of my safety -- you know, what LGQ said doesn't exactly appeal to me -- I have an offer for you." He runs his hands through his hair. "I can fuck you. Regularly."

"And what do I have to do?" Justin asks, obviously in disbelief over the pure desirability of this arrangement.

Brian shrugs. "Nothing. Ever heard of fuck-buddies?"

Yes. Justin has.

Before he can say another word, his shirt is being pulled roughly over his head, and there's Brian, pressing his shoulders against the mattress, his knees spread over Justin's body, half-on the bed and half-off. His legs dangle over the edge of the bed, and his arms are pressed against his sides, all of Brian's weight on his shoulders. He does the only thing he can think of to do: he raises his head as high up as he can and pushes his lips against Brian's, hard. The older boy hesitates initially, then meets Justin's lips with an equal passion, both pushing against each other's mouths hard enough to bruise.

As the kiss continues, Justin shoves his shoulders out from under Brian's hands, pushing the taller boy's hands down onto the mattress itself, and reaches up to unbutton Brian's shirt. When it's entirely unbuttoned, Justin reaches back behind the brunet and pulls it off each individual arm, then rolls on top of Brian and begins planting kisses all up and down his chest and stomach. Obviously taken aback by this change of control, Brian squirms, but Justin just playfully bats his hands away and continues with his worship of the other boy's body. "So gorgeous," he murmurs between kisses, the words tickling the tiny, thin hairs on Brian's lower stomach.

"Justin," Brian begins, but Justin ignores him, continuing his descent of Brian's body all the way down to his cock, which he smoothly takes into his mouth. Immediately he feels Brian pushing hard against the roof of his mouth, and Justin sighs contentedly around the hard dick in his mouth.

Nothing has ever been so perfect. Ever.

www.libertygossip.net

Disclaimer: All names have been abbreviated to protect the innocent. Namely, me.

**news**

All we have to discuss today is **BK** and **J** , kiddies, so if for whatever reason you're avoiding the latest gossip about everyone's favorite fags, I suggest you shy away from this one. However, two pieces of news simply cannot go unsaid. The first, we have from anonymous source ( **MN** , undoubtedly): that **BK** fucked **J** again, and that the two of them are now in a fuck-buddy relationship. Which is perfect for us, because we get to see the two hottest boys _ever_ make out and whatnot, but they're both still available to us as well.  
  
And the other piece of news? Well, simply, **BK** is going to have to part from his little love slave for a few days, because guess what Friday is? You guessed it, you clever little fuckers. The freshmen are off on their trip to big ol' Manhattan. We all remember the trip -- the lavish hotel, the unbelievably hot guys, the sights and the skyscrapers. Well, **J** is off to the big apple, and will have to part from **BK** for the first time since meeting him.  
  
Suck it up, princess.  
**  
****sightings  
****  
** E and MN having a heated debate in the middle of Bio-Chem. BK and J making out in the Seniors' Lounge. How the fuck does the kid keep getting in there? And of course, let's not forget T filling out an Absentee form explaining where he's been the past three weeks. His nose looks smaller...  
  
Count on me to explain every second of it.  
  
You know you love me, babies.

Liberty Gossip Queen

**boy from new york city**  
_"hey, have you seen justin?"_

Ted frowns. "Bri, didn't you know? The freshie trip to New York is today."

Brian rolls his eyes. "No, Theodore. It was two days ago. All the 'freshies' are back now. Except. Justin." He rolls his eyes to emphasize his point. "Do you or do you not know where he is?"

Apparently this is a hard question, because Ted has to think about it. Brian, frustrated, walks away.

  
"Are you looking for Justin?" a slim black girl asks. She tosses her hair over her shoulder, her lip gloss accentuating her pout. "He left. On the trip. Just disappeared, said he was going to his dad's, that his dad had an apartment in the city. And he said his dad would drive him back here. _Weeeeell_... he didn't come back. And we had to just leave, you know? So they're trying to get in touch with his parents." She shrugs. "In the meantime, he's missing class and won't pick up his phone."

Brian sighs. "I know." He reaches into his pocket and retrieves a small silver cell phone. "This, uh, this is his."

"I think I'd know my own best friend's phone," the girl replies. "So. Are you going to get him?"

With a dramatic groan, Brian slams the phone down on the table and hisses in the girl's ear, "Coming with me?"

Daphne laughs. "You think I'd miss this?"

\---

Brian throws open the door to the hotel room. Daphne, waiting in the car, begins her stopwatch.

"Taylor. I drove all the fucking way over here, so now you can get on your stomach on the bed. You have five and a half seconds to stretch yourself well enough for... entertainment." He pulls the pale boy closer to him, kisses him hard on the mouth, and slaps his ass to get him towards the bed. As Justin rushes across the room to strip and spread-eagle himself,   
  
Brian strolls leisurely across the room, looking over the balcony.

He must be counting down in his head, because it's less than ten seconds before he leaps across the room, pounces onto Justin, and begins the reunion sex.

Both are subdued, sweaty, and _so_ infatuated by the time they walk back to the car.

www.libertygossip.net

Disclaimer: All names have been abbreviated to protect the innocent. Namely, me.

**J is back and better than ever…**

Well. **BK** and **J** are back! **J** won't say one word about his accomplishments in New York, and the jury's out between hustling and go-go dancing. A certain **EH** reports that **J** stayed in the hotel room the entire time, but then again, he could have just ordered tricks up to his room. We all know they'd come... again and again.  
**  
****sightings** ****  
  
BK, J, and a girl we'll call D even though she has the same initials as MN's DC getting out of BK's car. J regaling tales of his trip to a loose-lipped EH. T and MM exchanging cash, presumably after taking bets on J's return. DC (MN's DC) going through MN's things. Oooh... maybe BK and J aren't the only ones around here with drama going on.  
  
Babes? Don't even try to pretend you don't live for this.

Liberty Gossip Queen

**high school confidential  
** _"oh my god, you're the sixth freshman who's tried to get in here tonight. no."_

Justin wiggles his ass temptingly. "Pretty please?" he asks sweetly.

The girl, whose dyed-black, rainbow-streaked hair is shorter than Justin's, looks him over and shakes her head. "Not going to work on me, **J** ," she sings.

"C'mon," he pleads. "I'll... uh... fuck. I'll set you up with Lindsay?" he offers, citing the name of one of Brian's friends and one of the most popular girls in school.

She raises an eyebrow.

"Hey, let him in," a guy suggests, though it's clear that he only wants Justin admitted because of the fact that he is holding up the line. "He's hot. He'll take his shirt off. Sell drinks."

The girl groans, but finally slaps Justin's ass and pushes him inside. Justin forces a smile as he elbows his way through the crowd, but really, he is determined to do one thing and one thing alone. Anyone can see it in his eyes.

"Hey! Emmett!" he yells over the lounge's music, spotting a familiar curly-haired junior in the crowd. "Have you seen Brian?"

Emmett scrunches up his lips, forcing them all the way over to the side of his face. "Sorry, sweetie," he yells. "He's with someone." And Emmett points to the 'someone' in question: a new kid from Atlanta.

Well, that sucks.

So Justin will have to make the best of it.

He flirts his way all the way up to the stage and bribes a blonde cheerleader into letting him dance. She winks at him, obviously not recognizing him as the famous, and very gay, **J**.

The song comes on, and Justin's facial expression makes it clear that he doesn't recognize it. However, he dances anyway -- smooth and fast and sexy.

By the time he hops off the stage and finds Brian, he is so exhilirated and full of adrenaline that they practically fuck right there in the lounge.

www.libertygossip.net

Disclaimer: All names have been abbreviated to protect the innocent. Namely, me.

**looks like we have a new lounge dancer!**

For those of you who weren't there (who _wasn't_?), **J** rocked the house in the Seniors' Lounge last night. We've decided he's the hottest freshman ever, so it's okay that we all want to fuck his brains out (or get fucked by him, as the case may be). I know I fit in the latter category.

  
Anyways, that's all for now. I've got to go develop my camera...

**sightings** ****

J and BK sharing a trick. Damn. That boy is one lucky shit, let me tell you that. MN going through half a pack of cigarettes in two hours. L and the bouncer at the Seniors' Lounge sharing a few drinks.

**  
** Living, loving and fucking as always,

Liberty Gossip Queen

train  
_"brandon? can i have a word?"_

 The taller blond turns to examine Brian. Three girls and a boy lurk in the shadows, watching, tape recorders at the ready.

 "Sure," Brandon says at last. "If this is about not fucking your twink, don't worry. He's not my type."

 Brian ignores that. "Look. You keep stealing my tricks. It's not cool, man."

 "Maybe you should give up," Brandon suggests. "Don't you know blond is the new thing?"

 "Yeah, and cheap dye, too," Brian sneers. "If I remember correctly, you tried out 'redhead' in eighth grade."

 Brandon glares at him. "You _know_ that was an accident."

 "I also know it looked fucking hilarious," retorts Brian.

 "You didn't say so at the time," Brandon observes.

 "Yeah, 'cause I was too busy fucking your boyfriend."

 "We were best friends at the time, liar," Brandon snaps. "You wouldn't have done that."

 Brian smirks evilly, and the kids watching can't help but think that maybe he did.

 "Well, look," Brian plows on. "If you keep stealing my tricks, I'll have to humiliate you. Or have LGQ post those pictures of me fucking old what'shisface, the guy you were dating back in middle school. Besides, I'm hotter than you. I should get the tricks."

 "You aren't hotter than me." 

"Oh yeah? Prove it. Bet I could fuck ten hot guys faster than you."

 "Bet you can't find ten hot guys I haven't fucked."

 "Bullshit." Brian holds out a list with the initials of ten guys. "Well?"

 "You're on."

 "Winner gets...?"

 "The loser's pass to the lounge."

 "Deal."

 ---

 Brian has six before Brandon has four, but Brandon has eight before Brian has seven.

 In the end, Brian has nine and Brandon has nine, and the tenth one spends spring break at home. The moment he gets back, however, Brian has him pressed against the wall of the parking lot, jeans around his ankles. "Welcome back to school," he breathes hotly in the boy's ear.

 He goes back to his dorm that night with Brandon's plastic Seniors' Lounge card in his wallet.

 www.libertygossip.net

Disclaimer: All names have been abbreviated to protect the innocent. Namely, me.

well, well, _well_ , BK

BK is now officially ruler of the universe, and BS can no longer sneak his hot little blond ass into the lounge. We'll have to make sure our butch lesbian bouncer knows that he can no longer flirt his way inside. (Shouldn't be a problem there.)

**sightings**

J and BK toasting BK's victory out on the lawn. Jesus Christ, isn't the faculty here decent enough to stop them from fucking where strangers could see? No, I'm kidding. They didn't fuck. But they did drink. Oh, those boys. BS ripping shit up. MM and T exchanging money yet again. And we have a new student! He's a sophmore, and he's not all that cute, but I hear he's a music prodigy whose parents are on the board at PIFA. His name? EG.

**I'm off to go console BS!**

Liberty Gossip Queen

scherzo tarentella  
_damn. who's that?"_

"God, Justin. Don't you _read_?" Emmett sighs. "That's Ethan. **LGQ** did a picspam of him."

Justin shrugs. "I just read the news on there."

"Not even the smut section?" Emmett gasps, outraged. "Oh, you poor freshman. The news is mostly about you, don't you know that?"

Justin smirks. "Yeah. Well, today it'll be all about me fucking... what did you say his name was? Ian?"

"Ethan," Emmett corrects him. "Ethan Gold. He's, like, famous or something."

"Well, maybe now I'll be famous." In one smooth gesture, Justin pulls his shirt over his head and hands it to Emmett. "Watch and learn, lovely."

Emmett lets the shirt drop onto the lawn, his jealousy beating out his admiration.

"Hey," Justin says to Ethan, using his 'impressed' voice. "You're fucking good on that violin."

Ethan smiles. "Thanks. And you are...?"

" **J** ," Justin says with a smirk.

Ethan tilts his head, and Justin immediately knows that he is speaking to a highly uncultured teenager. With a sigh, he corrects himself, "Sorry. I'm Justin."

Ethan nods. "Ethan." He holds his hand out for Justin to shake, and Justin does, very amused.

"So... I hear you're famous," Justin says, and drops his voice to a lower octave. "Want to show me how much of that fame you deserve?"

Ethan opens his mouth to reply, but just as he does, he is cut off by a certain brunet running up to them. It's Brian of course. "Hey," he says, pushing Ethan aside. "Justin, come up to the room? I have something for you?"

Giving Ethan a slightly apologetic look, Justin follows Brian up to his dorm, where he is awarded with a plastic admittance card to the Senior's Lounge. The photo is a profile picture in which all someone can see is blond hair and blue eyes.

"So what were you doing with Ethan?" Brian asks after the sex that follows.

Justin tilts his head. "Who?"

www.libertygossip.net

Disclaimer: All names have been abbreviated to protect the innocent. Namely, me.

**looks like fame is out**

J turned down EG in favor of being given BS's pass to the lounge. Fair, I think. Damn, BK. You sure know how to charm the boys.

**sightings**

EG delighting some captivated freshmen with his violin. MM and T sharing a cigarette on the lawn. MN shooting J dirty looks, like that's anything new. And of course, D (the girl) fawning over J by complimenting how he looked in gym. Sweetie, give up. The boy's queerer than a nine-dollar bill.

**Maybe EG needs some consolation, too?**

Liberty Gossip Queen

save the last dance  
"he's not. he couldn't. …oh my god, he _is_." __

_but don't forget who's taking you home_

_and in whose arms you're gonna be_

_so darling_

_save the last dance for me_

_oh darling_

_save the last dance for me_

The boys' corsages catch the lights of the ballroom as Brian twirls Justin around his arm and then dips him into his arms for a deep kiss. When their lips meet, some people hiss in frustration (obviously suffering attraction to either one of them and recognizing that it's impossible), while some people coo and still others growl in anger.

Then the song is over, and Brian takes Justin's hand and leads him off the dance floor and onto the balcony, where more kissing ensues, but nothing sexual.

It's in Justin's eyes: he has no idea how _his_ prom will possibly live up to this.

"I have to call Daphne," Justin near-whispers the next time his lips move away from Brian's. Brian nods, and steps off the balcony to give the boy some privacy. As Justin's trembling hands skitter across the keypad as he dials Daphne's number, there are footsteps.

Then there is the flash of a corsage and the softness of the white silk scarf around his neck rushing into view before there is a _thunk_ , and his eyes snap shut.

www.libertygossip.net

Disclaimer: All names have been abbreviated to protect the innocent. Namely, me.

oh god.

We all know what happened. Even the freshies are abuzz about it. I can't dish any juicy gossip here, because that would just be out of taste. I just want to remind everyone to go see **J** in the hospital if you can, because the more hotties hang out in his room, the likelier it is, I think, that he'll wake up from his coma.

 God. How will **BK** cope?

**sightings**

BK sneaking in and out of the hospital every night. Don't think we didn't notice. MN and DC (the boy) hanging out in the lobby whenever possible, even though they should really be at home now. (DC's brother is sick, and they were supposed to go visit him.) D (the girl) bringing snacks up for herself and BK as they refuse to leave J's bedside. MM and L rushing in whenever possible. J's mom and sister, MT, visiting. EH and T bringing him flowers and getting nasty looks from BK. EG laying a tape on his bedside table. (BK destroying it.)

**C. Arrested. Fuck, he was _hot_.**

**Wow.**

**Just... wow.**

Liberty Gossip Queen

when my boy walks down the street  
_"bri… brian. he's awake."_

 Michael hovers nervously just outside Brian's car window. Brian has slept in his car for the past six days, and spent the past six nights in Justin's hospital room. He and Daphne have switched off, and Brian is all too happy to cover the night shift.

"Did you hear me?" Michael asks hesitantly. "He's up. He's asking for you."

No use pretending he's deaf, Brian supposes, and he slides the window back up and exits the car. "Thanks, Mikey," he mutters, and enters the hospital.

The waiting room is packed with students, parents and journalists alike. Many of the faces are familiar, either recognizable from the hallway or the evening news. Brian just stands there in the doorway, as far away from the hospital room doors as possible. He isn't sure what to do -- that much is evident from the confusion and fear in his eyes.

"Get away," a tiny voice insists. "Get _away_!"

Brian's ears perk up. That sounds a lot like...

Two seconds later, a familiar blond ducks out of the crowd and into Brian's arms, at which point Brian holds him tight, shooting nasty looks at the onlookers. "Come on, Justin," he says softly. "Let's get you home."

"But Brian," Justin begins, because it's clear that he hasn't been released yet.

"I know," Brian says, and he kicks the front door open and he and Justin leave together.

Nobody really has the nerve to refuse him.

www.libertygossip.net 

Disclaimer: All names have been abbreviated to protect the innocent. Namely, me.

well, he's up.

J is up, and BK won't let him out of his sight. As a matter of fact, they're inseperable. None of the teachers has the balls to complain that BK is sitting in on all of J's classes and skipping all of his own. Even BK's teachers are giving him full credit for every class he misses. MN brings him his homework, but MN ends up doing it, and the teachers know it, too, because BK has very distinctive handwriting and is much smarter than MN anyway. However, he's getting better grades now than he ever could manage under normal circumstances.

**sightings**

BK and J avoiding the lounge like the plague. BK wearing something made of white silk under his clothes -- you can see it when he wears a weird neckline. He also smells kind of weird lately. Just saying. MM studying up on aggravated assault for C's trial. BK attending, forcing J to attend as well, because BK doesn't let him go anywhere without him, remember? J's hand spazzing out in art, and BK comforting him. L helping J draw -- did you know L's an artist too? Huh.

**the sentence**

Expulsion and five hundred hours of community service. I personally think a death sentence would have been nicer.

**Coping as always, because we queers can handle anything,**

Liberty Gossip Queen

somewhere over the rainbow  
_"brian, what's wrong?"_

Justin lays his keys on the counter and is alarmed to discover Brian sitting in an armchair, his back to Justin. His eyes are downcast on what Justin soon sees to be a letter, and he gasps. "Oh my god," Justin gushes. "Is that -- ?"

"Yeah," Brian breathes.

"Well?" Justin asks excitedly. "Yay or nay?"

Brian, who had been wait-listed to Columbia, his dream school, sighs and lays the tri-folded letter on the table. For one brief moment, Justin almost panicks, but Brian grins broadly and utters, "Yay."

"Yay!" Justin screams, and pulls Brian against him for a kiss.

The kiss, surprisingly, does not lead to more, because Brian taps the laptop sitting on the table. "I was looking at apartments," he explains. "I'm torn between Chelsea and the West Village. Chelsea is supposed to be gayer, but the West Village is definitely cheaper, even if it's not as nice."

Justin scrunches up his face, catching sight of one of the potential apartments. "Oh, Brian, _ew_ ," he whines. "That one looks... well, don't get it."

The next apartment is far more lavish, and even has a bathroom that he wouldn't have to share with the rest of the floor, but it is very distinctly out of Brian's price range.

"Hey, I know how you could make enough to afford that," Justin teases, his eyes twinkling. "I could go with you, and I could be a go-go boy. I'd make enough in tips for maybe three-quarters of the rent, and I could cover the rest on the streets." 

Brian tickles him. "You pimp your ass out to dirty old men, Sunshine?" he demands playfully.

"Just the one," Justin shoots back.

He squirms as Brian tickles him harder, murmuring threats of "I'll get you back for that, Princess." Then his pants are across the room, and Justin doesn't think it's going to be much of a punishment at all.

www.libertygossip.net

Disclaimer: All names have been abbreviated to protect the innocent. Namely, me.

colleges!

All the wait-listed folk around here have received their yays or nays. As a courtesy, others have refused to disclose their information until finding out where everyone else is going. So here are the answers, lovelies.

BK: Columbia, where he's wanted to go his whole life. In NYC.

DC (the boy): U Penn pre-med. Crappy school. Poor baby.

EH: Fashion Institute of Design and Merchandising in California.

J: No, I'm kidding. Of course J's still a freshman. A very sexy one.

L: Is it any surprise she's going to Carnegie to stay with her girl?

MN: Allegheny Community College. Poor ol' MN. Also local. Sigh.

MM: Carnegie Melon. What's with all these pussies staying local?

T: Wharton Business School right here in good ol' Pennsylvania.

**sightings**

Everyone celebrating their admittance. J and BK looking up apartments. L and MM exchanging those fucked-up lesbian ring thingys. Not married, just "eternal." Pussies. EH, T and MN agreeing to live together. DC and MM celebrating BK going to New York. T deciding to quit smoking. L and BK fucking. No, kidding. Got to keep you on your toes!

**Ready to be college kids, everyone?**

Liberty Gossip Queen

  
lover i don't have to love  
_"i'm valedictorian."_

"Oh my god, Brian! That's amazing!" Justin leaps forward and plants kisses all over Brian's face. Brian feels like he should push him away, but he doesn't. When Justin is done decorating his face with kisses, he steps back. "You should know, though... my mom wanted me to go home for the weekend. She said she's worried about my hand and wants to take me to a doctor."

Brian shrugs. "Sure," he says casually. "I, of course, will drive you to the train station, sit on the train with you, and come back by myself. And I'll pick you up when you return."

Justin laughs. "Seriously?"

"Seriously," Brian repeats. "Tell your mommy to get you a babysitter for the train ride back."

Laughing, Justin gathers his things. "Well, you can't come with me," he says sweetly. "I'm leaving now." He plants a kiss on Brian's cheek. "Drive me?"

"Sure," Brian agrees, but he is decidedly subdued.

When he gets back to the dorm after dropping Justin off and having him swear to call him every half hour, Brian automatically pulls up apartment listings on his computer.

The first one he sees is pretty good. It's cheap, because it's in a shitty neighborhood, but it looks okay.

He places his bid.

\---

On Sunday, Brian receives a phone call from "Jennifer," the realtor for that particular apartment, telling him that his bid was accepted, and he can move in as soon as tomorrow.

Eighteen hours later, Brian picks Justin up from the train station. Instead of driving back to school, however, the two of them board another train, this one to Manhattan. "I have to show you something" is all Brian will say, but Justin suspects that it is something important.

They arrive, and they take a cab to Christopher Street, where Brian's apartment of choice is located. A ring of keys with the last name **KINNEY** stamped on them is under the doormat just where he was told they would be, so he lets himself and Justin in.

Trepidation is just starting to set in in Justin's mind when Brian sweeps his arm out, gesturing to the apartment, and asks smoothly, "Want to live here? Bed's big enough for two."

For the third time in a week, Justin is happier than he thinks he has ever been. "Brian!" he squeals, and they mark their territory.

www.libertygossip.net

Disclaimer: All names have been abbreviated to protect the innocent. Namely, me.

sleep tight, seniors…

Graduation tomorrow!

That's pretty much it, actually.

Make sure your clothes match the cap and gown, because these pictures will haunt you for as long as you live.

Oh, and guys?

Make sure to compliment **J** on his new living arrangements -- with **BK** in New York.

**sightings**

EH dying his cap and gown a bright pink. God, he's so not getting his diploma. T rushing to BW's office. (Shit, can it heal in time for graduation?) BK and J picking out BK's suit. L and MM buying shoes and purses to go with their _matching dresses_. Losers. DC (the boy) getting a haircut.

**Nine hours left. Sleep tight.**

Liberty Gossip Queen

forever young

_"Congratulations to our graduates... the Liberty Preparatory School class of 2008."_

The cheers are deafening. Caps are flung into the air, each landing peacefully in a graduate's arms...

Except for Brian's. Justin, who managed to wrestle his way to a front-row seat despite the angry parents glaring at him, catches Brian's cap, which was doubtlessly Brian's intention.

"Just like a bouquet," Brian tells Justin later, his arm around his boyfriend. "You're next, Sunshine."

Justin laughs. "Sunshine?" he repeats, reaching up to adjust Brian's collar.

"You sure as hell smile like it," Brian teases, and kisses his lover.


End file.
